


Downfall of Evil

by plansofevil



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Faeries - Freeform, M/M, Other, light!Jonathan, vs dark!Jonathan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plansofevil/pseuds/plansofevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>City of Heavenly Fire AU. What would happen if Jonathan had not burned out from Clary's flames, and instead happened to wake up confined in a dark cell, having to deal with the atrocities of his previous crimes and to face a new, lighter side of himself? Once given a task to redeem himself, Jonathan has to face many challenges in order to make up for the crimes he committed. Will he succumb again to darkness, or manage to fight for the light?<br/>Features later on M/M, and includes a look into the fey lifestyle. Picks up directly from the last book, City of Heavenly Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is our first try at a Mortal Instruments AU. Basically, we both think Jonathan is an interesting character, and that the ending featured great promise to his character development. This is our take on how the series would have continued if Jonathan didn't die. At first we started with a pretty straightforward concept, that turned into a whole lot more. g

 

_The throne Jonathan relaxed in was large, his back comfortably sunken down on pillows embedded in silky material. Jonathan had a distant recollection of picking out these pillows especially for the occasion, wanting to give an elegant design to the previously plain throne. His robe, like the color of the throne, was dark crimson, resonating well with the grey surroundings. On his white hair a crown nestled, shaped in spikes of gold._

_From up here, Jonathan could look down on his subjects, show them the face of their new tyrannical ruler. The throne served as a reminder to everybody who doubted him that they were wrong about his failure, and now they lived to see his reign. As he looked beyond his kingdom, there was a reflection of flames in his wild eyes. The world was burning down, and he murmured his satisfaction from his seat while he heard innumerous screams, like the sound of an orchestra playing in his head. This was his world; his new creation. In some ways, he was like a god._ _It seemed like a fitting title. And judging by the old one, he thought of himself as an improvement. It was a common truth that people crave to be subjugated, and they will learn to love him like they loved the old God. He would pave way for their submission to turn into greatness. The world was his. Clary, who sat next to him with an equally beautiful crown on her red curls, was his as well. She was his queen, and together they would rule their kingdom, or live long enough to watch it destroyed._

_He gave a blissful sigh. At last the world is as it should be. He even permitted his lips to curl into a twisted smile. Some would say he spiraled into madness, but this is the most sane he felt in years._

_If only the world would ever permit him to be happy._

_As if sensing it before it actually happened, a ragged cry was constricted in his throat. The solid platform that once held him steady gave way, a work intricately constructed of iron and copper collapsing upon itself piece by piece as the pillows dissolved into ashes, and the metal scattered broken on the ground._ _A hissing sound rang loud in his ears, momentarily deafening him, and he could taste bitter ashes in his mouth. Now without support he felt himself falling, desperately trying to cling onto thin air, even as the flames faded and his vision darkened._

_"Jonathan!" A voice screamed. "Jonathan, my sweet brother, where are you?"_

_Jonathan frantically tried to search around him for a clue, but he seemed to be momentarily suspended in darkness, no light showing way to the voice calling out for him._

_"I'm here," he yelled breathlessly. "It's too dark to see."_

_Unexpectedly, warmth enveloped him, and Jonathan found himself wrapped in an embrace with the person he was searching for._

_"Clary?"_

_"Why did you do this?" Jonathan noticed that her face was stricken with tears as it slowly illuminated from the darkness. He felt a protectiveness tug pull him towards her. The incomprehensible need to comfort her and make sure nothing hurt her again._

_"What happened? Who hurt you?"_

_"You did. You killed the people I love, burned down my home, and all for what?" If she was once hurt, now she looked hateful. Her hands closed into fists and she started hitting his chest over and over again, tears still running down her face. "How could you possibly think I can love you after that? You may have a crown now, and a throne, but it could never fill the coldness in your heart."_

_Jonathan wanted to snap at her, to tell her how much bigger any of this was than her, how he worked hard for this and would never have to weigh his dream over her life, about to tell her how puny and small she truly was. But even as the words racked his brain, he started wavering, the resoluteness he once felt gone. Suddenly, like an uplifting fog, his mind cleared. Jonathan didn't really remember what the purpose of his plans was anymore; why he had condemned so many people to the grave. His heart lurched in pain and he felt himself tremble, experiencing how he laughed as he spilled the blood of Shadowhunters and Downworlders, carefree in his judgement. Was he wrong to do so?_

_Biting his lip hard enough so to draw blood, Jonathan felt himself grow cold once more, his laugh coming out cruel and booming while they both were suspended in what seemed to be his mind's limbo._

_"You always know where my priorities lie, little sis."_

_He roughly grasped her, digging his fingernails into her shoulder blades hard enough to bruise. He enjoyed the way she squirmed under his firm hold, her enmity back, and her eyes defiant as he kissed her. She spit vehemently in his mouth._ _For a few blissful moments he was entangled in her, and her eyelids drooped just the slightest, and her biting grew more infrequent as she relinquished some of her power._

_Whilst his mouth fought to keep his control over hers, he felt a heat radiating between them, Clary's muffled screaming in his mouth as fire began to catch on her. Her face melted in flames, a morbid, scorched look staring back at him. Her screams grew distant as she disintegrated, flames torching her skin as if it would a cloth, increasingly growing in strength until everything turned to ruin. The burnt taste of ashes again stained his mouth, and with a choked scream, he felt himself being drawn back to consciousness._

Jonathan woke up distressed, breathing heavily. His chest heaved, and his body was soaked in cold sweat from the nightmare. Every inch of his body seemed to tremble at the memory, and in place of ashes, he only felt disgust. He swallowed weakly, letting his tongue roam hesitantly over his lips.

The lips he dreamed were kissing his sister.  _Clary **.**_  His...Sister. His face twisted in horrid realization. In his dream, his conflicted halves battled, and his darker half won and that side of him seemed to enjoy the feel of his sister's tongue fighting his own, her feeble attempts at defiance only thrilling him more.

Shocked, he raised a hand, as if searching for some remnants of a crown nestled in his hair. He only made way halfway before he got stuck. Only then had Jonathan noticed that his hands were confined in chains. Once pulling himself to a seating position, he heard a metallic sound, letting him know that his legs were chained as well.

_It would be best if you refrain from sitting up, please._  A sudden voice appeared in his head. He turned his head right, and was met with the presence of one of the Silent Brothers. It took him more than a few seconds to piece together what had previously happened, memories suddenly clear as he retraced the event. Jonathan's heart hammered in his chest. Clary's sword in his heart. Why hadn't he died? How did he get here?

"The Clave required you to t-torture me before you kill me?" Jonathan asked, his voice unexpectedly breaking. It wasn't like him to lose control over his own voice. Jonathan had always remained composed. His voice was either hard or piercingly smooth, but never broken; never hesitant. A lesson his father taught him well. _Father told me that you're only as confident as you sound._ Showing weakness verbally or physically will turn the person in himself weak, he had told him. Every time he mumbled, trembled, or had tears hidden in his eyes, his father would discipline him, usually with the help of a whip, other times with the help of his words.

Trying to regain some upper hand, Jonathan lowered himself from his bunk with a jump, surprised to learn that the chains on his feet and arms gave him the space to do so.

The Silent Brother moved threateningly towards him.  _Sebastian, I fear that you must return to your place. The Clave has required that I must use force if needed in order to restrain any disobedience. Force you might find unpleasant._

Jonathan gave the Silent Brother an inquiring look, and with a defeated sigh, returned to his bunk. "My name is Jonathan, by the way," he offered casually.

The Silent Brother didn't linger long, and soon Jonathan saw him make move to leave through the door.

_Wait in your place. Don't move._  The voice of the Silent Brother sounded in his head, and then with silent footsteps, he left the room.

Jonathan studied his surrounding for a moment. He inferred that he was being kept in a secure, remote cell. The place was stingy, and the only thing in sight was the bunk he sat upon, and a flickering light. Although he was unable to see beyond what the light touched, Jonathan had a strong feeling that more equipment was hidden in the darkness, and that even now, eyes were on him.

Alternating to staring at the ceiling, he started thinking.

Jonathan recalled how it happened, the moment he died. Before, everybody was bowing to him, his army was infinitely superior. Everything was going as planned and he was going to win. The events were all a blur, like his dream. At this point, it was hard for him to tell which was dream and which was reality. It all spiraled to that pivotal moment when he was stabbed, and life was draining out of him. His entire being was forcefully taken from him, and so little was left, he was sure he was going to die.

_  
I never existed at all._ He had told Clary. _Heavenly fire burns away that which is evil. Jace survived Glorious because he is good. There was enough of him left to live. But I was born to be all corruption. There is not enough left of me to survive. You see the ghost of someone who could have been, that is all._

Ah, but that could not be true if he was here right now. That meant that not all of him was corrupted, and now, none of him was. His blood was pure, but his brain wasn't. The memories of what he did, what had been done to him, were all still there. How can someone remain pure after that?

Still, he _felt_ lighter. He basked in that feeling, that for once in his life he might not be twisted. He felt remorseful, and saddened, and all those feelings caused him great anguish. Those were hard feelings to endure, but it meant he was, for once, human.

His head thrummed with a nearing headache at the implication he was now faced with. The deeds of Sebestian would haunt him no doubt. He could take back his former name, but that would not change anything. It was his body that did those actions, his brain that gave the command. His hands were tainted in blood he could never wipe clean.    

How could he have been so blind? Did he truly think Clary would be capable of loving him after everything he'd done? Or did he think forced, manipulated love was the best he could get without ruining his plans?

Suddenly feeling wearisome, Jonathan closed his eyes, and a few seconds later opened them, hoping for once that he was truly dead and this was only some hallucination before his judgement.

The room was still as dark and empty as before, a few droplets of water leaking from ceiling to create a repetitive splashing noise, one that matched the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Subconsciously he reached for his bracelet, to twist it around in his fingers to keep his mind from wandering, only to realize it wasn't there. Instead, he bit his lower lip. Better the taste of blood than the taste of ashes, or the bile that threatened to go up his throat at the thought of everything that is suddenly happening to him.

Besides, the pain helped him think, helped him understand himself better.

Assuming he actually survived, which seemed to be the probable answer, why not kill him straight off? Why risk him gathering his strengths back and causing more harm? Is the Clave planning on torturing him, making him atone for his previous crimes before finally getting rid of him?

The door opened in a screech, snapping him back to his reality; the cold reality of being stuck in what appeared to be a dungeon, with his captor having full access to do whatever he desired to do to him.

It took a few moments for the person to show his face, as if he was hesitant if to enter or not.

It was unmistakable who that person was.

Jace.

Jonathan's heart pace quickened at the sight of him, and it took all his courage to swallow the unfamiliar aching fear, and make a turn to sit upright on his bunk. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Jace's hand curled tightly around his dagger, and with a sinking feeling Jonathan knew that it was meant for him.

He was going to kill him. Or at least make him agonize until he does.

Breathing became harder. To die by your rival sibling once was one thing; dying by the same hand a SECOND time is likely to paint the Morgensterns as a quite dysfunctional family. Throw in a hateful sister, an abusive father, a guilt driven, murderous mother and you got yourself one amusingly colorful family meal.

That was if Jace ever acknowledged himself as a Morgenstern, which he doesn't.

"Jace-" he began to say, and quickly regretted it.

At the sound of his voice, Jace lifted his weapon and pointed it towards Jonathan's chest, unflinching. Cold, dark malice was hidden in those golden pearls, and now with the ability to sympathize, Jonathan knew that it bore true hatred for him.

"On your feet." Jace commanded of him, his tone a match for his cold, hard eyes.

A chill crept up Jonathan's back and he awkwardly stumbled on wobbly feet.

_He hates me, he thought. He hates me and he's going to kill me. Like I killed Max._

Jonathan, once being quite curious about the ways of physical torture, knew that predicting what was about to come next for him was going to be impossible. Jace looked to be an old fashioned sort of guy, but Jonathan was convinced that he was under strict orders, and the Clave would want his death to be a painful one.

Perhaps Jace would start out by cutting his fingers and come back an hour later to cut out his tongue? Maybe he would like to carve a drawing with his sword on Jonathan's pale, tingly flesh and afterwards, once Jonathan would be an incorrigible, weeping mess on the ground, void of various fingers and swollen of cries, Jace would finally give him the mercy of a quick death?

Jonathan had always suffered from an over active imagination, or maybe it was the newfound paranoia he was experiencing.

"Give me your hand." Jace spoke, and Jonathan did as he was bid.

Ah, so they would have him cut off his hand first? Just like last time? How morbidly ironic. Jonathan felt himself regretting offering him his right arm on instinct. His good arm.

Jace took hold of his forearm with both hands, leaving the rest of his arm uncomfortably exposed as he was made to stretch open his hand. Jace's hands were hot on his flesh, as if steaming from rage. He lowered his dagger to Jonathan's skin, who awaited his fate. He only wondered if the ministry would give him enough time to get used to a life without a hand.

To his surprise, Jace only lightly grazed his skin with the dagger, leaving a scratch small enough that one could think an angry cat had left the bruise with sharpened nails. A few crimson droplets of blood fell from his arm and onto the shiny, stone floor.

Jonathan raised his head to give Jace an inquiring look, almost screaming for him to stop teasing and rip his arm from his socket if he so pleased, but Jace only stared at his forearm, as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he wrinkled his nose. His features softened the tiniest bit.

"You have a few minutes to get ready, prepare."

The dagger which he had cut him with was sheathed back to its place, whilst Jace marched in quick steps towards the door. He opened it, lost in thought, and that's when Jonathan called after him. "Wait," he said and Jace paused momentarily, but not turning his way towards Jonathan. "Where am I going in a few minutes? Am I trading confinements"?

"Ah," Jace curtly replied, taking another step out the exit. Jonathan vaguely noticed that Jace never made eye contact with him since he cut him, oddly enough. "That we might find out soon enough," He ended the conversation with a secretive smile that Jonathan didn't see, slamming the door on his way out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The door slammed open, and through it stepped three Shadowhunters; two of them well equipped with weapons in hand, looking brawn with a strong build and unwelcoming faces. From the corner of his eye, Jonathan could spot a bag carelessly held by the third Shadowhunter, the content inside he could only venture a guess.

  
Jace told him to prepare, now was that a cruel jape to vex him? To prepare for what, being suffocated in a bag, or to have three Goliath like guards guide him to some execution of sorts? Jonathan felt almost foolish that he dared hope that Jace had come to the dungeon to give him a second chance, to maybe rescue him, help him find a way to make amends. A mistake he would never have made before. He never presumed to trust people's intentions, he was always wearily careful when it came to trusting people. Hell, the only time he trusted Jace was when he was under his control, and even then he guarded him.

  
"Sebastian Morgenstern," the dark skinned Shadowhunter stated formally, and even while feeling a distant urge to tell him he preferred the name Jonathan, he realized now was probably not the right time to correct him. "The crimes you have committed against the Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike are considered to be crimes against humanity. You murdered many innocents and caused them to fight their own. These acts have not been forgotten. For these acts you are put on trial by sword- you have a quarter of an hour to get ready, make sure you wear the clothes that you are given."

  
Maintaining a professional air, although Jonathan was more than sure he would rather crush him than act civil, the Shadowhunter proceeded to hand him the bag. Inside there were a clean looking suit, and a pair of nice leather shoes. The institute rarely chose to dress their defendants, but Jonathan was nothing if not special. This would be an extremely painful trial to deal with, he knew.  
"At the end of the trial, your punishment will be decided."

  
The guard didn't even make the effort to suppress a cruel smirk when he said the words, he was already certain of Jonathan's punishment, much like Jonathan himself. A death sentence was indisputable, what to come before was still debatable.

  
The chains made his moves clumsy as he struggled to put on the pants and straighten his tie. Mortified, he had to ask the help of the guards that waited outside to tie his shoes, unable to reach them with hands tied together. The suit he wore was dark, and the tie was of a crimson color. He didn't know if it was supposed to symbolize something, but knowing the Clave picked it out, it probably did.

Jonathan passed many corridors, dragged on by his chains. He managed to keep a certain level of detachment, but at times his mind betrayed him, and anxiety would leave his hands sweaty, and his fingers twiching. He kept his eyes casted downwards on the ground as he walked, quiet until they reached the destination of what he assumed to be the trial room. The entrance door was made out of dark stone.

  
Jonathan heard voices behind the door; elevated shouting and many whispers that joined together into one big jumble of noise. He didn't want to go in there. He didn't want to face all the people who had lost their loved ones. He didn't want the grief of those people to feel so real to him, to see the aftermath of his actions. Of course, he wasn't given a choice. It felt like he was never given a choice, the minute he was born to be Valentine's son. But that was not true was it… All this time, he did have a choice, but he promptly chose to ignore his options. Why must he have changed? Facing his crimes with a smirk would be so much better than this. He would have laughed at every last one of them with confidence he did not currently feel, if Sebestian would have been here to protect him. But Sebestian was gone, burned away by a sword. Only Jonathan was left, about to stand trial for his crimes. Alone.

The Shadowhunter that had led him here went for the door, but in a scramble of thoughts, Jonathan blocked his way.

  
"Wait, can I see Clary before I start? I just want to apologize."

"And I just want my brother back. I guess we will both have to be left wanting," he spat.

  
Opening the door, he pushed Jonathan in, making him almost stumble and fall. The entire racket that had just seconds before filled the room had been brought down to painful silence.  
The room was built like an amphitheater; many wooden benches were facing a rectangular dais where the Inquisitor was perched respectfully behind a lectern. Besides him the Consul was standing. Countless amounts of faces were staring at him as he made small steps forward, forced to move quicker from time to time with a rough push to his back. The audience in the room were all wearing white, the traditional mourning clothes of the Shadowhunters. It made him feel so out of place with his black suit, leather shoes making quiet thumps in the silence of the room.

  
Jonathan looked through the abundance of faces, trying to see if he recognized any of the faces staring hatefully back at him. Most were the faces of strangers. It felt like he was suffering from a lapse of memory, surely he must know these people? Or maybe he never really did care for the families of the people he killed. The Lightwoods he did remember though. They were staring at him with a look of malice, and he seemed to recall he killed a family member of theirs. He felt his hands tremble yet again, and he tried to breathe evenly.

  
Feeling overwhelmed he was about to return to stare at the floor again, but then he saw a glimpse of red hair. Clary was sitting besides Jace, who was hugging her to his side protectively. Jace had a hard look to him, void of feeling, but it felt dangerous. It felt like he was threatening him with from his place in the crowd. Clary, sitting to Jace's left, seemed surprisingly indifferent, almost sympathetic, but when he tried to catch her gaze, she shifted her head. It shouldn't have surprised him, he already prepared himself for bitter disappointment, but now without even one friendly face in the crowd, he felt more alone than he ever did before.  
Before him stood a stand, and on top of it a sword. Jonathan recognized it immediately; the Mortal Sword, the sword that would drive the truth away from of his lips until he was writhing on the ground. No one wanted to make this trial easy on him.

  
A cough disturbed the quiet. Jonathan climbed the stand until he was facing everyone in the audience and had a clear view of the Inquisitor. In the light, Jonathan's heart skipped a beat as he recognized Robert Lightwood with his back erect in the seat of the Inquisitor. That was it, he was finished, someone cut his throat now.

  
Being the one to hold the stand, Robert was the first to break the silence. "I believe you are aware of why you're here?"

  
"Y-yes."  
  
"Okay then." As the Inquisitor, Robert tried with might to contain his voice in the most professional way possible. Still, a bit of hatred slid its way into his words, making them icy cold. "Take hold of the Mortal Sword and we shall begin the trial."

  
He nodded once at the command, and made way to grab the sword. Once his hands made contact with the steel, he felt as if lightning had struck him and instinctively drew away his hands.

  
"What is wrong?" The Inquisitor looked quite impatient already, his calm voice a mask. "Do you need someone to tie your hands around the sword or do you think you can restrain yourself?"

  
"No, it shouldn't be necessary. I apologize." Jonathan swallowed a shaky breath, and bit his tongue. Without any more complaint, he seized a strong grasp on the sword, letting the pain of it wash away on him.

  
It wasn't quite like conventional pain, Jonathan noticed. It felt more like the sword was working its way through his body, making his blood flow the wrong way. For a second he felt compelled to just run away and take his chances, but instead he just bit his tongue harder. Either way he didn't have a chance to survive, but at least here they would give him a trial first. If the pain was evident on his face or not it didn't matter, no one seemed to care anyways.

  
"I believe we can follow proper procedure now."

  
Even as Robert spoke, Jonathan felt himself getting buried more deeply in this stinging feeling, drawing solace from the way his focus was purely on physical pain. Mental pain was sure to follow. He did his best to stay conscious of what was going on.

  
"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern you stand accused for the destruction of the demon towers, the impersonation of Sebtastion Verlac, attempt at genocide; murder of Shadowhunters, Downworlders, amongst them children." Robert Lightwood paused for a second, suddenly not the Inquisitor, but a father of Max Lightwood, who died by Jonathan's hands. Jonathan bit his lower lip harder than before, the taste of blood like a mosquito bite compared to the pain he felt from the sword and the guilt he never before felt. He remembered the look on Isabelle's face when he killed Max, a mirror of what her father was feeling for him right now. "These murders were done in cold blood, in cruelty and without remorse. You destroyed families, friendships, made people live in fear while under our sworn protection."

  
Jonathan felt the pain intensify, every word like a dagger in his heart all over again. He heard the drumming of his heart, and felt the sweat between his hands from the pressure of which he was holding the sword, feeling very much faint. There was an impossible heat in his body which he could not control, waiting for the moment to just confess to these crimes and hear the sentence.

  
"Am I speaking it true?"

  
Jonathan didn't really process the question very well, but it didn't matter, for his lips moved to their own accord. "Yes, everything you said is true."

  
A small smile tilted on the Inquisitor's lips. "The schemes you planned on carrying out, or at least the ones we know of, they have failed. Do you attest to it?"

  
"Yes," he answered disquietly.

The look Robert gave him was victorious, he seemed to enjoy the way Jonathan was fidgeting, the way the more he held the sword, the paler he got. "Are there any other schemes or plans of yours in motion right now?"

  
"No. None"

  
In between breaths, he felt dizzy, he felt heavy. He felt as if his blood was on fire. He was looking up with half lidded eyes, and trying to grasp a stronger sense of reality by digging his nails through his fists.

"Do you regret your actions?"

  
"Yes." Jonathan felt himself let out his answer like a breathless prayer, the pain subsiding slightly only to be replaced with fatigue.

  
"If you were given an opportunity, would you repeat your previous crimes?"

  
"No." It was weird, Jonathan wasn't aware he was talking, and yet he was. He felt a lot of eyes boring on him, adding some sort of imaginary weight on his shoulders. Whispers were already passing freely through the crowd.

  
Robert paused for a moment, a sign to let the gatherers quiet down so he could continue in his interrogation. "You had certain requests from Clary Frey and Jace Lightwood, I have heard," he began saying, looking seriously into Jonathan's unfocused eyes. "What were your intentions towards Clary Frey?"

  
Jonathan's brain worked only fast enough to piece together the question and send a message back to his body to react in fear. The tired state that controlled his body mere seconds ago was gone, and he felt his eyes grow wide and alert. He fought with himself not to answer in truth, not to say something that might betray how shameful he felt. "Please, don't ask that, please... It's-it's complicated," he pleaded. Jonathan never pleaded. He was a writhing mess, his shaky hands barely gripping the sword anymore, but still keeping contact.

  
"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, this is a question and you must answer in truth. There was a time period where Clary was confined with you and Jace Wayland. You didn't make any attempts of ridding yourself of her, knowing full well that she was there to sabotage your plans. What did you want from your sister?"

  
He felt tears brimming in his eyes, his voice close to betraying him, the words choked in his mouth.

  
"Is this really necessary?" another voice was added, and in the haze Jonathan realized that Clary had spoken out. All he could tell was that she looked not composed, that her red hair was falling down in curls, and that she was speaking out in the middle of his trial. His trial. Shouldn't she be sitting down and enjoying the show just about now?

  
"Excuse me; I will not have interruptions in my court. Again, I request that my question be answered."

  
"I believe you might find the answer imprudent to the interrogation."

  
"I will be the judge of what questions might raise imprudent responses, thank you for your input Clary. Now shall you politely take a seat or might I have to call security to see you out?"

  
Clary looked like she was contemplating defiance, but Jace took her hand and held her down, whispering something softly in her ear.

  
The Inquisitor sat taller in his chair and asked the question once again. "Now, Jonathan, what did you want to-?"

  
Jonathan interrupted, the power of the sword was too strong, he felt the truth on the tip of his lips, compelled to just talk and get the nauseous taste out of his mouth. "I wanted her there because I thought I could seduce her. I wanted her to be my queen, and for Jace to be my friend."

  
There were a bunch of gasps, the audience immediately going into a rush of comments, equally surprised and off put as Robert Lightwood seemed to be. The older man cleared his throat, waiting a few seconds before he spoke next. "And you have...pursued these urges?"

  
Jonathan felt the tears threatening to fall. He tried to not let them roll free, to keep them in line; to keep himself in line. He wanted to refuse to answer, but his control was gone, and he was a broken mess, and words flew like the wind. "I have. I forced her into it. Once I kissed her when she didn't know I was her brother, but I knew. Another time it was when she joined me to rescue Jace. I fought her bloody. I wanted to make her my queen like I told you, that we would rule together, b-but I don't anymore. I swear it. Please."

  
"Inquisitor, I must protest. This is personal and ungainly to the trial; I ask that you move on." Clary's voice was hard and soothing, making the weight on his shoulder a feather lighter, but it was too late. Jonathan's brain was wrecked with memories now, broken loose. He was weeping softly, murmuring nonsense, but he didn't cry. He was probably a pathetic display; some part in the back of his head told him that his father would be ashamed. No, he wanted to reply, Father was cruel and he abused me and made me a monster. Father doesn't get to be ashamed of me anymore. Other people get to be ashamed of me.  
If there was any time Robert Lightwood looked awed, or at loss for words, now was probably the time. The man spoke through gritted teeth and said, "Fine. I'll allow it, not that he deserves it. Clary, you may sit down."  
"Thank you, Inquisitor."  
In his struggle, Jonathan had relinquished his hold on the sword, his thoughts now returning to something passably coherent.  
"I must insist that you return to the Mortal Sword, Jonathan."  
"I told you everything. Just sentence me to die already." Jonathan was surprised he managed to say the sentence without stuttering or breaking off in a sob, but he had and now that he had, he looked defeated. "If you're not going to sentence me to die, then just send me back to the dungeon to rot. I can give you possible ideas for retribution if you're lacking, and I promise you they won't be idle but please. Can you not see I am not the way I was before?"

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow at his rash statement, obviously not expecting a suicide call. He turned to his Consul, as though he only now noticed them, and they began to exchange quiet murmurs, presumably arguing. Jonathan felt exhausted, all energy drained from him. He wanted to go off and sleep, not stand here on wobbly legs, awaiting punishment.

  
"Very well. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, for all the crimes and atrocities you have committed, I sentence you to death. The method of execution will be chosen in a later date."

  
"NO!" Clary yelled and jumped from her seat. She boldly ran down to stand directly beneath Robert Lightwood. "Mr. Lightwood, I beg of you. Reconsider. This is madness. You can't condemn Jonathan to death for Sebastian's crimes. Surely he deserves to be punished; you can't wipe away his bad deeds, but give him a chance to prove he is more worth alive than he is dead. I implore you to seek any other punishment. I take full responsibility for him; you won't see him step out of line ever again."

  
Robert Lightwood frowned deeply, no longer trying to hide his fury. "You expect me to let this...murderer loose just because you believe he has a change of heart? A black heart is a black heart. Who is to give vengeance to all these people's dead?"

  
Clary was about to snap back a comment but another voice, somewhat begrudgingly joined hers. "Surely death must be too sweet then. I say let him live to make it up to everyone he had wronged."  
Jonathan was only vaguely aware of Jace adding in his voice for his favor; mostly sure he fainted and was just making up the rest of the trial in his head; a trial where Clary and Jace stood up for him and didn't want to see him dead. What a sweet thought, in what messed up world would that convey reality, though?

  
"I say we call in a vote. You're not the only ones here who have the right to pass judgment on this man. I can promise you though; most here would want to see him dead. I give the court the permission to talk."

  
The minute Robert allowed people to voice their opinions, the court room turned into havoc, the peace that had been maintained until now let loose like a reopened wound.

  
"I say death under torture!" a man yelled from the bottom bench, and others nodded their agreements.

  
"I say death by stabbing, so we can be rid of him nice and easy," another man declared, and stood from his seat.

  
An elderly looking woman, with white hair pulled up in a tight bun took her stand where she knew others would listen; atop of the highest platform. "Serve him as a meal to the vampires!"

  
Uproar seized many of the listeners, nods turning into shouts and people rising one by one to suggest their sadistic ideas in turn. Some took leave of their seats and advanced towards Jonathan, making Jonathan drop to his knees and try to squirm away. A hand grasped at him from the side, and he responded with a startled yelp. Trying to wiggle free, but finding he had no energy left, Jonathan began to panic, eyes closed like a dog about to be smacked by a newspaper. The strange man, a Shadowhunter, pulled him to his feet and moved him to face the crowd, the stand with the Mortal Sword now behind him like a shadow.

  
"You see him?" the man said, twisting Jonathan's fingers back until it felt numb.

  
By then, he felt his limbs catch on fire once again, his breathing shallow as he pleaded. "Please, I am sorry, I am sorry for your families, AH-"

  
The pleas were not received lightly, his genuine apologies only seen as mocks in the man's eyes, and his fingers twisted painfully back even farther.

  
"Why let such a man live? You want him poisoning the minds of those we have left? Have we narrowly escaped one danger to let the one who started it cause another?!"

  
"NO!" the voices of many were joined as one, a booming noise in his head.

  
"I know, I'd hate me too, but I-I am changed, whatever I can do to prove it-"

  
"Changed? Can you hear him?" the man said, laughing. The crowd laughed along with him, like he told some joke which Jonathan missed the punchline to. "I suggest if he is so fond of playing the innocent, we should force him to apologize. In fact, his apologies should be the last thing he says before we cut off his tongue!"

  
More people joined in corresponding supportive shouts, the idea seeming appealing in its cruel nature. It was a mistake to have the trial so soon, their grief so fresh.

  
Jonathan waited for some authority to do something, to organize the onslaught going on in the courtroom, but Robert seemed uninterested in him or what was happening. Instead he was seized by Clary and was now in a serious looking argument back in the side of the room. Clary was trying to emphasize some point with hand motions, and was given a comment in return that did no help to end their dispute. It was nice of her to try, though. He paused, Jace wasn't next to her. Confused, he looked back to the crowd, pain like a distant hum in his brain now, and found he didn't spot Jace between the faces either.

  
The guy that was grasping him released his hold all of a sudden. Relief washed over him. He tried to rub a sore spot in his wrist, but realized he was still in chains. A hand of placed on his shoulder. It took Jonathan a few seconds to realize it was Jace, trying to quiet the turmoil in the crowd. Charismatic as always, the people quieted to listen to what Jace had to say.

  
"You can't kill him and I will tell you why. Not one of you would be better than him. He is like the Endarkened in some ways, like I was when under his control. I know what it is like to be possessed by something dark; all those who were turned probably knew it too." Jace paused, weighing his words. He probably wasn't half as confident in what he was saying as he sounded. "If you had your loved ones come back, like Jonathan had, and they were back to normal- would you sentence all of them to death? I ask of you not to be hypocritical, if you execute Jonathan for Sebastian's crimes, you must have me executed as well."

  
Jace's speech caused a great deal of confusion, some were unchanged in their opinions, others murmuring to one another, and some just sat back down and offered no judgment.

  
"It is true," a more feminine voice assured. Standing next to Jace was Maryse lightwood, and no one was more shocked than Jonathan. "I understand your anger. I also lost a child, I know how it feels. Even so, we can't let our rage consume us and make us monsters. I say we give him a second chance, maybe a rehabilitation program to let him make amends for all the bad he's done."

  
A few looked as though they might be considering what Maryse had to say, but most looked more doubtful, and some even insulted by the idea.

  
In all the controversy, Robert made his way back to his honored seat, and was ready to speak. He looked conflicted, unsure of a final decision. "Everybody please return to their seats, it is an order."

  
Slightly dazed from the new enforcement of authority, people began making their way back to their seats, once again quiet. A distant murmur was heard about injustice, but was quickly silenced out.

  
"I believe we can all come to an agreement that we can't give proper judgment to Jonathan for Sebastian's crimes. Ultimately though, he does need to be punished- therefore I shall assign him to a 'rehabilitation program', one the Consul and I will resolve." Many voices argued, and Robert raised his voice and it ceased as quickly as it started. "However, Jonathan will receive no protection by this Institute or any other. If a Downworlder decided to hurt him, or threaten him in that matter, it will be no problem of ours. He is at his own disposal, under Clary Frey's volunteered supervision," he stated, giving Clary a fixed look, "and under our own. It will be seen he causes no more harm." Robert pounded his gavel twice, ending any discussion. "The court is now adjourned."

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Jonathan had been sentenced to atone for his crimes under the Order of the Clave. And atone for them he did, at least, for a start. After the decision of forming up a ‘rehabilitation program’ to suit Jonathan’s current situation, it was first decided, privately by Robert Lightwood and the Consul, that he must have a cleansing of whatever evil thoughts might still linger in his brain.

The ‘cleansing’ was applied by pain, and the pain was there to remind him of what the end would be for him if he ever decided to withdraw from the 'light’. It was worded so eloquently that it almost sounded pious; a disguise for what in practice was insufferable torture. It ended him in what was undoubtedly the longest and most excruciating week of his life; the minutes crawling and the quiet hours of the night restless from the pulsing of his untreated wounds.

In the darkness of his cell, fidgeting and turning, nobody could stop him from trying to claw through the walls. A person in sweet sleep could not hear the cringing sound of Jonathan’s teeth when it sunk into his chains in a desperate attempt to free himself. It was only him who heard it all, the only sounds there was to hear except the clattering of his teeth and the breathless sobs he made when the pain was too unbearable to quiet down in his stingy cell.

It was only a few hours a day that the heavily dressed men would enter and begin their daily routine of creative lacerations, whip slashes and knife cutting flesh scarring his skin and creating new marks where old ones used to reside. It was such a long time ago since he had received beatings that he forgot how he used to stomach it, how he used to stomach pain.  

Jonathan was able to dwell on such misgivings when exhaustion won out, and defeated, he would lay his head on the discomforting pillow and accept pain as his friend. It was those times he was left to his thoughts, stuck inside his head. But for him it felt like ghosts lingered in there with him, whispering evil deeds of his past to him while he tried to block them out. Closing his eyes would bring grotesque images, so Jonathan got used to not closing his eyes.

Day after day it was the same, and day after day Jonathan got more pessimistic about ever leaving his cell.

Sitting alone on his bunk, Jonathan thought that maybe one day he could anger the ill tempered men who came to his cell every day and whispered about their liking to kill him, get them winded enough to pull the knife just a bit farther to end all this. All he needed to do was be his old self, find their weak spot and press down on it until it drove them crazy. Even in his debilitated state, he could still manage that.

During the eighth night, with the wounds stinging enough to drive him mad, he had decided he was going to do just that. Rehearsing words in his head, he already could imagine how this day might be his last. He made peace with it, and after all those restless nights with so little sleep, for once he managed to fall into undisturbed slumber.

A distinctive creak of the door woke him up hours later, which seemed to him all too soon. He wanted just a few more hours of sleep, just a few more hours of peace and then he would die without conflict. A searing pain jolted up his spine as he turned in his bunk to a seating position, ready to greet the shadowhunters with a jeering smirk. The smirk dissolved into smoke at the sight of Robert Lightwood standing by the door. The presence of the Inquisitor disquieted him and gave him a healthy dose of mistrust, any confidence he had crushed into a submissive glance at the floor.        

“Hello there, Jonathan. You may be glad to know that you have exceeded your time in this cell. We have made to believe you are able to transfer to a different confinement."

Jonathan made a raspy noise in the back of his throat, but didn't answer, not sure if this may be a trick or not.

“If it pleases you, we will remove your chains.”

Robert Lightwood was accompanied by two guards, foreign to Jonathan, and one held keys in his hands. Callused fingers grabbed his chains, making the frightened prisoner wriggle, flinching away from contact and breathing raggedly once again. A clink was heard, and his hands were free of their confinement, dark bruises left in its wake. Soon his feet were free as well, muscles tense from long time of immobility. Even with the ability to move, Jonathan still didn’t really feel inclined to rise from his bunk, the matt cold and hard, but familiar.

“I-I would rather stay here, please,” he choked out.

Robert seemed to be at the end of his patience even with his showing up just mere minutes ago. Only the slightest trace of pity was heard in voice when he spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous, come. We’re going to Clary Fray’s house, your sister and mother are waiting for you.”

 

Not trusting Jonathan to get to the place he was designated to go to on his own, Robert escorted him through various floors, and long hallways, instructing him on what to say and do during the duration of his stay at Clary’s. Jonathan was given clear instructions not to discuss their methods of treatment to anybody, and to remain with a shirt on in the presence of others until such time where his wounds would heal and could pass off as old scars. Jonathan is to act like everything is normal, and keep his behavior in check until given further instructions as to what was to be done with him. Robert made sure to stress it out to him that lulling into a safe sense of security would be unwise, and that going alone outside would be suicidal, since there’s a lot who haven’t forgiven his misdoings.

Jonathan nodded at all the right places, and promised his obedience, following Robert timidly as they walked through a long corridor that was filled with pictures of famous Nephilim, most of which Jonathan recognized, hazily remembering some stories. The last time he had been out of his cell, he had been chained and sent off to trial. Now he was walking free, trying to hide a limp, and if it could be believed, on his way to visit his sister and mother.   
The door they made a stop at was not unique or unlike the others they passed, just an entrance to a common residence in the Institute. Still, it held worth to Jonathan, knowing this might be his new home.

Robert knocked on the door three times, and straightened his back even more, a wave of nonchalance on his face, as if any trace of their conversation disappeared from his memory.  Soft footsteps were heard, and the door opened to the greetings of a woman with ginger hair.

Jocelyn.

Jonathan thought he was prepared, but all of a sudden he felt really self-conscious, wanting to run his fingers through his hair to tame the mess he knew it was. He knew he should probably say something, but words failed him. The guard was bearing most of his weight, so Jonathan could stand properly, but now it felt like he was about to lose his steps and fall over anyways.

Seeing how worried Jocelyn looked, and the pity in her eyes, made Jonathan realize how tired he actually was, how wrecked he probably looked after a week in solitary confinement. All he wanted was to find a comfortable bed, lay his head and rest for a few years.

“He’s all yours,” Robert announced and nodded at the shadowhunter to let go of the boy, and Jonathan, shaky on his legs, leaned against the wall to support his weight. Jonathan stayed still to stop his head from spinning, as he was starting to feel faint and see black dots at the side of his vision, Robert exchanged some words with Jocelyn, words which Jonathan couldn’t really focus on, and then he felt a hand balancing him and the door behind him closed shut.

Jocelyn, with a comforting hand on his side, and his left arm draped over her shoulder, was carrying him through the room, and into another, one that he could make out her saying was his to sleep in.

Soon he found himself lying on a soft bed, looking up at the ceiling, and the red hair that led him to the room gone. Letting his exhaustion wear him out, he closed his eyes, and hoped that this terrible day would come to an end. He didn’t realize how terrible it would become.

   

Jonathan woke up coated in sheen of cold sweat, his back stretched out like a cat, and his mind was trying to adjust to the new surroundings. His eyes narrowed at the penetration of bright light that seeped through the crack in his door. For a few seconds, he was disconcerted that he wasn’t surrounded by the darkness of his cell, and tried to remember where he was. Then he remembered, he was at Clary’s house, Robert had leaded him here and Jocelyn had put him in his bed so he could sleep.  

After a quick inspection of the room, Jonathan noted that on the wooden dresser sat an arrangement of books, a brush to comb his hair, and a mug of what looked to be tea that recently cooled down. The window of his room was shut closed tightly with iron bars, and to make it seem less hostile, was decorated with blue blinds that matched quite nicely with his navy blue sheets. Overall the room didn’t hold much belongings, the closet empty, the desk empty, and his energy, as well, empty.  

Up on his feet, mussing up the sheets on the way out of bed, he found himself wearing the same bloody, drenched and dirtied clothes that he wore last night to bed. He was in a desperate need for a bath, all soil and dried up blood, but he couldn’t find some reason to care about it. Jonathan remembered once hearing that one of the signs of depression is not caring at all about your appearance, or the need to take care of yourself, and he found himself identifying with it. He felt an odd indifference about living, and wished that he could go on without conversing with anyone or draw any attention to himself. Just existing seemed to take too much the effort, so the idea of a bath felt even more droll and unimportant in comparison.

Jonathan mustered up the energy to face the front door and sighed as he took the handle and turned it, even brighter light blinding him for a moment. He adjusted his sight to the light, getting used to living in a place that wasn’t full of darkness. Hesitantly, he exited the room, fearing that some shadowhunter was going to jump up on him and take him away.

Nothing happened, however.   

Through the hallway and down a flight of stairs, nobody disturbed him. It almost felt easy. But soon the stairs were behind him, and Jace and Clary were in front of him, sitting leisurely on a couch- and then it wasn’t so easy.

With words as cold as ice, Jace talked to him, making his skin crawl and the bedroom look more inviting than ever. “You could just stay up you know.”

“Leave him alone.” Clary lightly hit Jace on the side of his shoulder, and said to Jonathan, “Hey Jonathan, hope you slept well. Mom is now making dinner. I would suggest you take a shower and come eat with us. Jace will lend you his clothes, won't you Jace?”   

Probably discussing it ahead of time, Jace rolled his eyes but didn’t put up a fight. He got up sullen, and motioned for Jonathan to come after him. Jonathan, with one last look at Clary, decided to follow, seeing no other choice.

Jace led him begrudgingly up the stairs, towards one of rooms farther off in the hallway Jonathan recently passed to get down to them, and opened the door to shove him in. By intuition alone he knew to recognize the room as Clary’s. Unlike his own room, Clary’s window was opened wide, the blinds hung to the side to let fresh air in. It gave him a guess on what the time was, which he estimated roughly about evening time, so it made sense that Clary’s mom... _his mom..._ was making dinner right about now. How long has he been asleep?

“Take this.” Jace said, throwing over to him a white shirt and a pair of jeans he found while rummaging in his bag. The shirt Jonathan failed to catch, and he found himself picking it up from the floor and murmuring a “thank you”.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me, you should be thanking Clary that insisted on taking you in.” He eyed him suspiciously, and then proceeded to closing the window shut. “Don’t get any funny ideas. The house is guarded, if you would step out of the house, they would know. Now take a shower, you smell like shit.”

Nodding his head in the slightest, Jonathan sighed, really just wanting to stay behind a closed door in the bathroom and put the water pressure on so it would give the illusion he was taking a shower, while really he would be just brooding. But certainly the others would smell the sweat and dirt on him, and then Jace would get mad, and what’s the point of even picking a fight?

“When you’re finished come downstairs to eat.”  After making the last statement, Jace exited the room.       

 

Jonathan washed his body thoroughly with water and a bit of soap, cleaning out the dry blood and letting the warm water clean away the stinging wounds. He threw away his bloodied clothes, and changed into fresh ones. Despite previously feeling bitter about the prospect of showering, he did actually feel better, even if by the tiniest bit. Now he was wishing he took more time with cleaning himself, because much too soon for his taste he was walking through stairs and before he knew it, Jonathan found himself in the kitchen.

The appetizing fragrance of a home-cooked meal filled the air, and the sound of laughter was heard from the table where Jace, Clary, Jocelyn and Luke were seated. The promise of food had his stomach churning and the promise of conversation had his heart pumping, and the combination of the two left him lightheaded. He found himself oddly wishing he could be treated like a prisoner, and have the food delivered to his room instead of having to sit down with the rest. But the idea was doubtful, and he really was hungry.   

Seeing no other choice than to make himself known, he took the empty seat in front of Jace, resolute on being quiet so there would be no need for him to interfere with their meal. Despite his best efforts, Jonathan still couldn’t quite be invisible, and predictably at his appearance the conversation that had been going on was halted to an uneasy silence, and all eyes were inspecting him. Some were less pleasant, like the frown Luke bore towards him, but others were more welcoming, like Clary, who looked like she might want to address his presence but didn’t really know how.

For a few moments, nobody touched their plates or made a sound. The first to break eye contact was Luke, who dropped his gaze to a few beans on his plate, and reopened in conversation.

“I heard we’re going to have to stay in Idris for a while,” he stated as in matter of fact.   

Jace shoved the fork into the chicken breast on his plate, pulled it to his mouth, and swallowed. “Well, we need to fix the damage that’s been done,” he remarked resentfully, looking at the general direction of Jonathan to make clear of whose fault it was. “Until then even the Institutes that weren’t harmed need to stay here since they want to bring everyone back together.”

“Oh.”

Tension hung thick in the air, and it was quiet once more, the only sound being the eating utensils scraping against the plates as the family resumed their meal. Jonathan eyed the food that was already set on his plate, suddenly uninterested in eating it despite how hungry he felt. _It was a mistake coming down from my room,_ he sulked. _It was a mistake not executing my plan of angering the men who tortured me sooner. It was most definitely a mistake that the sword that was shoved in my chest didn’t end me._

Jonathan didn’t delude himself with the thought that it would get easier, that he could somehow find a way to fit in here. The only escape was sleep, even with nightmares, it was still better than this. Perhaps if he would ask nicely, Jocelyn would excuse him to his room? He was debating whether to ask, when a voice shook him out of his brooding.

“Jonathan, eat something, please. You look all skin and bones.” Jocelyn looked over at him with worried eyes, two green orbs that looked almost warm.

As much as it was touching that Jocelyn was trying to act parental towards him, Jonathan just couldn’t find himself in the mood to play along. He was now the son she always wanted, and trying to ignore what he was, and hoping for all its worth that they could start a life with what he is- well, it was a nice plan in theory. _How can I try and pretend that I could still be the child she wants me to be when I am constantly looked upon like I am contaminated?_

He might be able to pretend for Jocelyn, and maybe even Clary, but what about everybody else? Jace and Luke were the mild representation of the collected thoughts of the Shadowhunters who even now might be thinking of a way to get rid of him. For them, he would always be the monster that slew their families, the one that gave their loved ones the drink that would turn their soul as black and dark as his. They would look at him and see Valentine’s experiment gone wrong, and it was far too late to change that.

“You must eat something, who knows what they’ve been feeding you over there.”

 _Maybe scraps of oatmeal,_ he mused.

Feeling very much defeated for not the first time that day, Jonathan took his fork in one hand and played with a slice of meat before grudgingly putting it in his mouth and chewing. The tilt of his mother’s lips in the slightest form of a smile was maybe even worth it.          

Now appeased, Jocelyn turned to converse with Jace. “So, Jace, how are your siblings? I haven’t heard from them of late.”

Jace took long bites of mashed potatoes, and drank a glass of water before answering. “They’re okay, more or less. Alec brings Magnus home sometimes and I have to get used to them making out again. And Isabelle...well, she’s trying to get better.”

“Great, that’s… excellent.” Jocelyn murmured and nodded her head, taking small bites out of her own food. To his great surprise, Clary picked right up on the conversation, her voice cheerful enough to feign normalcy in this mess of a gathering.

“So, I’ve been thinking, once we’re free to go back to New York, I thought maybe we can all hang out together. See a movie? Or whatever it is people do in New  York.” Clary flashed Jace a smile, as if waiting for him to back her up on it, but all he did was smile back, even so with forced effort.

“It sounds like a terrific idea!” Jocelyn exclaimed instead, exultant in her approval.  

“To be honest, I think it’s a terrible idea.” Luke’s voice cut Clary’s excitement like a knife, and she gave him a puzzled look. Even Jocelyn looked uncomfortable by the sheer bluntness of her husband’s words. It wasn’t that hard to puzzle out what he was thinking.

What Clary and Jocelyn saw as a chance to bond with a lost sibling and an even more lost son, Luke and Jace saw as being bound to spend time with someone they would easily rather see locked up.

“I can’t act like everything is just fine, Jocelyn. I really can’t. I had a sister.” Luke’s voice shook at the memory of Amatis, and he looked like he struggled not to cry. “I am happy for you, I am, but he is not just a revived version of the child you loved. He is a monster, and I can never make peace with that.”

Jocelyn looked at him in shock, never had she really witnessed her husband this winded, this angry. “Luke!”

Luke rose on his feet, pushing his chair back with a screech as he did so. “I’m going out for a walk,” he said and left. It took Jocelyn a full minute to shake herself from her daze, rise up as well, and follow Luke out the door of their house. Shouts were heard from outside the house as the door was slammed shut.  

Barely registering what went on, Jonathan raised his head to find Jace glaring daggers at him, teeth grinding one against the other. His radiant golden eyes shone with petulant rage, and his voice was full of venom when he spoke.

“You see what you did? You cause nothing but trouble. You didn’t even say a word, and already there are fights. You’re putting us in harm’s way just by _being_ here. I have to eat crap from people I love because I defended you, because I couldn’t let Clary watch you die, because I knew how much it would devastate her. Isabelle and Alec can barely hold a conversation with me without it being strained, and I don’t blame them, because they are angry with me. As they should be. I might have defended you during the trial but never doubt that I hate you. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me, and to others, and I wish you weren’t Clary’s brother because then I would finish you myself. Nothing you can do can change that anymore.”    

“Jace, please,” Clary intervened in hopes of calming him, maybe just to get him to stop talking, but he only got even angrier.

“Clary, I will love you no matter what, but it was a fool’s choice to get yourself involved. Stop getting your hopes up. I would hate to see you start becoming close to him, and see it ripped away from you. He deserved what he got. He doesn’t deserve your second chance. I was inside his head, Clary.  Not only do I know what he did, I know what he thought. You weren’t there Clary! You weren’t there, so how could you possibly know?” Jace’s voice had reached its limit by now, cracking in the middle and dropping to a regular octave. “How can you repair such damage?”  

Jonathan's gut sunk low, and he receded to the hopelessness he felt that morning, as he was struck by the inescapability of his past. Jace wasn't the only one to suffer the torment of his own mind; after all, he was the main lodger, the starring guest. The genuinely of his words hit him hard… _How can such damage be repaired._

He wanted to throw up the food he ate, and not for the first time, disappear into oblivion.

“Jace, I am begging you to stop.” Clary rose to her feet, and Jace followed suit.

“Fine! Clearly we can see who is more important for you at the moment. Let’s forget about how he sexually assaulted you, Clary, let’s wipe the image of him kissing you from my mind! Surely you remember his slimy hands all over you? But sure, crawl back to him, reward him with forgiveness, why not? I shouldn’t be the only one here that’s quick to forget. He caused you as much grief as he did me.” Jace spared a contemptuous look at Jonathan, who looked so timid and small that he might crack, but Jace was too fueled to feel any feelings of empathy. Letting his rage guide his actions, he cleared way to the stairs, and a slam was heard in time where Jace banged the door of his room shut.

Clary stayed standing in her place for a solid minute before staring at Jonathan, looking positively pale. Jonathan blanched; a fork still firm in hand from where he almost crushed it if only had the power.

How can Jace forgive him when he can’t forgive himself? Jace’s voice echoed in his head, driving him insane. Why was Clary still here, why isn’t she storming out, why isn’t she throwing stuff at his face?

Making light steps, Clary dragged her chair over the side of the table, until it was aligned with Jonathan’s and she was sitting right next to him. “Jace is overreacting, truly. Give him a bit of time, and in the end he’ll get over it, you’ll see-”

“It’s okay, Clary, really. Don’t try to feel bad for me, he is absolutely right.”

“Jonathan...”

“I am not hungry anymore,” he declared in a shaky voice and thrust the chair away from his body, making it fall onto the floor. He hurried, almost ran from the kitchen, and sped up the stairs, hoping for dear life that Jace was locked firmly in his room. Even in his weakened state, Jonathan thought he might still be quicker than Clary. He didn’t want to take any chances though, so he entered his room as quickly as he could, and shut the door behind him. He stood behind the door, leaning on it, and slowly fell down to the floor, hugging his knees to his body. He lowered his head to rest on his knees, and felt more tired than before, but he didn’t sleep.

Instead, he shook himself of all the tears that might be left and decided to hollow himself out. If his decision was to live, he had to learn to deal with these accusations, and his own guilty and shame.     

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

A week had passed, and the incessant bitterness that plagued Jonathan grew fractionally smaller every day. Mostly, since he refused to see or talk to anybody. Suppressing down hunger and thirst for the first two days, Jonathan rejected any knock that came by on his door, and spent most of his time either thinking, reading or sleeping.   
Thinking brought back memories, and he really hated memories so it narrowed it down, for the most part, to sleeping and reading. The books were mildly interesting, mundane books from what he gathered. Although he wasn’t really engrossed in them, he was able to use them as a distraction. It kept his mind away from hunger, and away from the sinking depression that threatened to crawl and poke its way into the depths of his mind and settle in there for good. 

Jonathan was adamant on living now that the decision has been made for him, and a small part of him still held a spark that kept his mind from plummeting into darkness. If he talked to anybody else, he was sure it would go away; the will to live. Isolation felt empowering, a chance to gather up some lost wits, ones that were splattered during the confinement in his cell. Admittedly, he was still incarcerated, but at least this time it wasn’t in darkness, and men weren’t causing him to bleed, which was also a bonus.   
Jonathan’s actions were not lost to him, they sometimes replayed in his mind when he was in a state between sleep and consciousness, when he couldn’t help but wander into dark territory. He knew he was his own worst enemy. (Or at least, in here he was. Out there, he was sure he had bigger, more powerful enemies.) But still, as long as he didn’t talk to anybody, he could find some way to balance the situation out as much as possible. 

And for the first two days that’s what he did. The wounds he had on his back were still a nuisance, like gushes of sizzling rocks constantly weighing him down, but slowly even they began to ebb, the pain faltering to a tolerable ache. 

He slept for more than was strictly necessary, and read, and then slept again. By the third day, he found that a plate of food and a half full glass of orange juice were sitting dutifully on his desk, the smell enticing him out of an almost sound sleep. Jonathan sensed a sudden painful clench in his stomach at the sight of food, something he almost seemed to forget about, and the smoked salmon with a side dish of rice had him almost drooling as he rushed out of bed. Searching for a fork and seeing there was none, he picked up the food with his fingers, uncaring of the messy way he was eating. He ravished the meal, flavors mixing salty in his mouth. After swallowing mouthfuls, his body was thankful for the nourishment, and he felt pleasant warmth in his stomach. 

The orange juice washed away the dryness in his mouth. It felt good to enjoy food without anxiety, to feel some sort of normalcy at least in that aspect of his life. The plate was licked clean, and set aside as Jonathan felt a burst of energy surge through him. 

After that day, he had food brought over to him every day, and for the first time since his “transformation”, Jonathan felt like he was regaining his strengths. There were further attempts at getting him to talk to other people, but for the most part, people didn’t barge into his room except to bring him food. He often heard knocks at his door, and he either responded with a “go away”, or ignored them completely. He continued in such a cycle, detached from reality.

On the coming Thursday, while Jonathan was mindlessly flipping a page on his book, a knock was heard on his door. At first he did what he usually did, ignored the noise.   
“Jonathan, open the door! It’s not funny!”

“Go away, Clary. Please.” He looked briefly at the door, and then dropped his eyes back to the book. 

Days beforehand, Clary would be walking away from his door right about now, muttering under her breath something about how he should be more social, but not today. In response to his dismissal, he heard the unexpected twist of a doorknob. In a hurry he fled from his spot on the bed to the other side of the room, blocking her entrance with his foot. Through that tiny crack where his foot collided with the door, Clary could see him. 

“I thought I told you to leave.” The presence of another human, especially Clary’s, was making him sickeningly uncomfortable. He just wanted to be left alone, and he couldn’t even be given that. 

“You need to go out! You can’t stay here locked away forever. You need to meet people-” 

“Who exactly are these people? The only people who want to meet me are those who want to kill me. I am asking you one last time Clary. Leave,” he said bitterly, moving his foot before slamming the door shut. For a full minute he stayed, standing in front of the door, seeing if Clary would dare open it again. His features softened when he heard sobbing from the other side, and knew that it was because of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to care, but some part of him knew it was better like this; to not to get attached to someone who could potentially care for him. It would only end badly for them. And maybe a more selfish part of him hoped the colder he acted, the colder he would become... the sooner the other side of him would resurface and all these feelings- all the guilt and nightmares- would cease to exist. 

It was a foolish hope to return to, so he decided to stop thinking about it and go back to reading the new book he started. Shortly afterwards he was interrupted again.   
“I told you Clary, go-”

“This isn’t Clary,” answered instead a masculine voice, which made Jonathan drop his book.   
Jace. 

He immediately sprung up from his bed and opened the door. Jace never came to visit him, not even once (even though Jonathan had a vague suspicion that he was the one to blame for the disappearance of his fork) and if Jace would trouble himself with showing up, it must be for something other than a casual chat.   
Jace studied him quizzically, somewhat bored, and then said dryly, “Oh good, you’re not dead.”   
“What do you need?” 

Jace gave the slightest tip of a cynical smile, rolling his eyes as the words came to him easily. “Robert has required me to alert you that in two days you start your training.”   
The blond gave Jonathan a second to respond, but Jonathan was loss for words. He just stared back at him, unblinking.   
“My training?” he asked nervously, thinking “training” a code word for another means of torturing him. “I finished all my training-” 

“Not under the supervision of the Order, you haven’t. You’ll be training with me. With me and Clary.” Without noticing, Jace was jamming his fingers into the wooden curve of the door, leaving a few scratches, before he stilled himself to continue. “I would rather our conversation be kept only at training, and that afterwards you will make sure I see as little of you as possible. See you on the field.” 

Jace was not lying when he said Jonathan’s training would commence in two days. At the time of six thirty, loud, repetitive knocks woke Jonathan out of an uneasy sleep. Sighing, he gathered the physical effort to stand up from bed. Still drowsy, he was about to go and find a set of clothes to shrug into when a hand grabbed him and hurled him from the bed, leaving him on wobbly feet. 

“Here are your clothes.” The disfigured blond shoved a pair of wrinkled clothes into his hands, and pointed to the bathroom. “You have ten minutes, make it quick. Clary and I are waiting downstairs. And make sure next time to wake yourself up, or I would be left to use other means to wake you up.”   
Jonathan felt like shoving the pillow into his face, rolling over and going back to sleep. But he knew the consequences would not be worth the trouble, so he got up to wash his face and to prepare himself for a long day. 

Later, he was rolling down the stairs in the clothes Jace brought him. All things considered, Jonathan looked passably presentable. He was no longer the cowering mess he was when he showed up; no longer was he stinking of sweat and blood. It didn’t feel like anything irrevocable was amiss with him, his features creased from stress, but the physical disabilities were more or less healed, at least on the outer exterior. 

Jace was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing earlier; a black shirt that clung to his body, outlining his muscles, and training pants that reached his ankles, making him seem taller than he was. Clary was standing in her usual spot next to him, in her entirely black attire.   
“It took you too long to get ready.” 

Clary gave Jace a pointed look at the comment, and then turned to Jonathan with a smile on her face. She looked radiant, and cheerful, or at least like she was trying her best to be.   
Jonathan tried to not look directly at her, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Smiles won’t lead to any progress in your training,” Jace snapped the smile out of Clary and made Jonathan jump a little. “Best you save your energy, can’t afford to be sloppy.” 

The walk to the training center at Idris passed in silence. Jace walked with caution, making sure no sudden threat would appear while Jonathan was near them. Feeling uncomfortable at Jace’s wary exterior, Jonathan kept his gaze down. It was clear that just his mere presence can cause the others to be in harm’s way, and he did feel the slightest bit of guilt tugging at him... but then again, if Jonathan had it his way, he wouldn’t even be leaving the house. So it wasn’t really his fault, right?   
Clary, obviously not enjoying the tension, looked as though she wanted to say something. Every time her mouth opened however, it closely tightly shut once more. She went stiff and balled her fists in aggravation.

After a few minutes of uncomfortably walking side by side, they reached their destination. Jonathan lifted his head up, and saw a large crowd of people, mostly teenagers, staring back at him. 

“You’re late,” said a man from a group of adults in the area, most likely a coach. “Clarissa, join the rest in combat training.” The coach pointed towards a small group of teenagers which consisted mostly of females. Clary gave Jonathan one last reassuring smile, before leaving to join her team. Some welcomed her with smiles on their faces, probably asking about her well-being. Others gave her odd looks, but that's all it was. He felt glad that she wasn’t receiving too much hate about her decision to protect him. The last thing he needed was more guilt. 

“Jace Lightwood and Jonathan Morgenstern,” the trainer snapped Jonathan back to attention, and turned his gaze towards them, “come after me.” 

Jace followed the coach, with Jonathan walking behind him like a timid cat. They were no longer in eyesight of the group, walking into a smaller room with yoga mats and training equipment. There was a mirror in place of one wall, and much room to move around, with all the equipment pushed to one side. Catching a glance of his reflection in the mirror, Jonathan saw that he looked pretty shaken up. He brushed his fingers through his hair once to straighten it out, breathing out a nervous sigh. 

“Wait here,” the coach instructed them, and walked through another door, deeper into the building. When he returned, he held two folded pieces of paper.

“These are your training programs,” he told them and shoved the papers into their hands. “Your father had no doubt told you about your special arrangement?” he asked, giving an inquiring look towards Jace. 

It took Jonathan a few moments to realize that he was talking about Robert Lightwood. 

“No,” Jace answered simply. The matter that he was here with Jonathan, instead of training with his group, already started to make him suspicious.

“Well,” the trainer cleared his throat. “It has been instructed that you will be training Jonathan Morgenstern in combat, at least until everybody returns to their Institutes-”

“I’m sorry, but with all due respect sir, I would rather train with my friends and family.” 

Jace looked irritated, inconvenienced, and his tone was rather sharp when he talked with the older man in front of him. Taking care of Jonathan was the last thing that he wanted right now. 

“I am quite aware of that. I apologize, but these orders are given straight from the Inquisitor. I think he was led to believe you wanted this responsibility.” He gave Jace a skeptical look.  
“After all, you did defend the young man in court.” 

Jace glared back at him, furrowing his eyebrows in anger while looking down on the man in front of him. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

“Very well then, don’t make complaints over something you caused yourself.”

Jace’s glare turned murderous, but he decided to stay quiet, before he did something he might regret. He told Clary he would behave. 

“As for you,” he turned to Jonathan. “The parts that do not include physical activity, you will learn and be tested on. Once returning to the institute in New York you will study alongside everyone else. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” Jonathan answered, keeping his head bowed down. 

“Then I guess that’s it for now, you have the training program, go by it. You do not need me.” 

With a final nod, he exited the room, leaving Jonathan and Jace alone. 

For a minute, there was silence. Jace did not move from his spot. He just stood there and blinked, staring at the space the trainer occupied only a few minutes ago. 

“I am sorry that you’re stuck here, Jace.” Jonathan rubbed his shoulder in discomfort. “I know you’d rather train with your friends, I’d encourage it. Trust me; I have no want for this.”

“Give me the training program,” Jace snarled. “I feel the need to blow off some steam.” 

Jonathan handed it to him, almost feeling the radiation of heat coming off in waves from Jace's terse body. Contradictory to his demand, once handed the paper, he dropped it aside, without a second look. Instead, he walked over to the edge of the room, going over possible weapon choices. He stopped once he found what he was looking for. In a cabinet of weapons; two swords, made for dueling. Notably, not that sharp. As shadowhunters, they needed to be prepared to fight with anything, being it sword, or knife, or maybe even a large stick. Jace had fought with a sword before, and was feeling rather in the mood for it. Also he didn’t want to ease Jonathan back into the game, better start off tough while he’s still sloppy. 

“Alright, get your mark set,” he said, throwing him the sword. Jonathan caught it uncertainly. 

“Uh?” 

“I said get in position. We’ve begun.”

Jace positioned his legs far apart on the mat, and raised his hands in a ready stance. Before Jonathan could wreck his brain to follow, Jace began to fight. 

In a few quick moves, Jonathan had himself pinned to the floor, with Jace’s boot digging into his spine. His cheek was sorely in contact with the mat.   
“Get up,” Jace told him simply, unsympathetic. 

Jonathan got up hesitantly to his feet, keeping his eyes in line with Jace, as to not lose sight of his opponent. He was hopelessly outnumbered in strength, and the only defense tactic that seemed wisest was to avoid any blow. 

A drop of blood was trickling from his lower lip, and his feet felt light under his heavy weight. His hair was standing in awkward positions, some lost on his face, the rest ruffled backwards in messy strands of white.

“You’re weak,” Jace noted and hit him again with his sword. 

“Water is wet,” Jonathan retorted, and blocked his blow. “I have taken severe blows and been kept under lock for more than a month. Do you really want to state the obvious?”   
Clearly not amused, Jace answered with another blow to his side, barely blocked by Jonathan’s own weapon. “See you’ve gathered some confidence. What is it, not scared of me anymore?” 

Blocking another blow, Jonathan refrained from answering, barely coherent enough to keep up with Jace’s attacks. It wasn’t that it ever sliced him, but whenever their swords kissed, and his movement had to be sharp, Jonathan felt more weary than before. He should have trained instead of reading, he realized. He should have foreseen something like this happening. 

Jace seemed peeved that he couldn’t get Jonathan off his feet again. His attacks were met with feeble defenses, only passable enough to keep Jonathan on his feet. 

Jace retaliated with a stronger blow with the tilt of his weapon. He aimed his sword in a quick, speeding motion to Jonathan’s right, and in the last second, while his opponent was confounded, switched his motion to the left. Jace was uncomfortably close to him now, with the sword tilted sideways on his chest. Smiling, Jace let his guard down, giving Jonathan room to duck, and reappear on the other side of Jace’s peripheral vision. Spinning, they continued to battle, Jonathan’s fatigue evident on his face. 

They have been fighting for a while now. It could have been 10 minutes, or it could have been hours. It seemed irrelevant with how out of shape Jonathan felt. His face was pale, and his motions were slow and clumsy. In the duration of a single battle, he managed to serve and deflate every attack that Jace gave him. His lungs were burning.   
“Jace?” he wheezed. “Can we take a break? I can’t-” 

Jace lurched forward, making Jonathan jump backwards in fear. For Jace, the fight didn’t tire him out as much as it infused his adrenaline; his nerves were on edge.   
One step forward from Jace, one step backwards in retreat from Jonathan. 

“I, I can’t really go on any longer,” he said between breaths, barely keeping himself on his feet. 

“Why won’t you fall??” Jace enraged, flinging his sword with enough momentum that it could have decapitated Jonathan if he hadn’t ducked last second. The sword narrowly missed its target, and a few white hairs were left on the ground. 

“On your feet.” 

“I can’t.” 

“On your feet!” 

In a daze, Jonathan found himself standing. Jace hissed under his breath, and circled his sword between Jonathan’s, until he felt like he was losing grip, and then yanked hard enough to disconnect Jonathan from his weapon. In his force, the weapon slid over a few meters from their current position. Knowing his imminent failure, Jonathan stared blinkingly at his lost sword. Jace, not hesitating, pointed his own weapon to Jonathan’s neck with an outstretched hand. He finally let himself breathe heavily, a sort of deranged smile upon his lips. 

“Okay, you won, now can we-” 

Jonathan felt the air blow out of his lungs mid sentence, as Jace turned his weapon and pushed the tilt against his chest and knocked him off his feet. Sprawled completely on the floor, he began coughing, new bruises arising from the fall. It felt as if someone had taken his bones, broken them, and then put them back into place. 

“Again,” Jace ordered.

“What?”

“You have another hour of training.”

Jonathan sat incomprehensive on the floor, unable to physically pull himself back up. He continued to cough excessively, and the anger in Jace’s eyes dwelled a bit. The adrenaline wore off, and now he felt the tiredness seep into his bones. But as he had stated, there was another hour of training.   
So in the end, he got Jonathan back on his feet, and they continued to fight, albeit less aggressively. It felt good to let out his anger, and now that he had, he might be able to properly train him. 

When the clock struck 10, and a signal was given that training was over, Jace left the room immediately, leaving a breathless Jonathan behind. Jonathan’s cheeks were tinted red from effort, and his body shook from the intensive training he had just endured. Surely enough, he just wanted to take a shower and lie down on a couch for a few hours until his bones reshaped themselves to their normal state once again. Unfortunately, he soon figured out, he had to take a shower and be at the next lesson in 20 minutes.   
In the shower, Jonathan realized how truly sore he is. When the water hit the scratches left from the sword, Jonathan winced at the burning sensation.   
Washing away all the bloody marks, he stepped out of the shower and put on a loose shirt and long pants. He was no longer sweaty and smelling of feet, which was something. 

** 

So far, it felt as if though nobody recognized him. Maybe it was because Jonathan made sure to hide in the shadows, content not to speak to anyone. Unobtrusively, he followed the directions he was given to the next lesson. As time passed, he saw more people appearing to the side of him. Soon enough, he already began to feel the uncomfortable stares. It was followed by hushed whispers, and less hushed conversation questioning his presence.

Inevitably, he was faced with confrontation. 

“Hey there.” 

Turning around, Jonathan was greeted with a sneering look. Jonathan was a rather tall person, but still he felt small next to the older man who had a good few inches on him, and a lot more bulk. 

The man gave him a hard look. “I heard you were punished. Weren’t you sentenced to rehabilitation or something? What are you doing here?”   
Jonathan, not sure about the man’s intentions in the conversation, answered carefully. “It has been decided that I should join the shadowhunters in their training, if I ever hope to think of....helping them.” 

“Isn’t that JUST like the Inquisitor to make such a weak decision?” The man, whose green eyes held laughter, scoffed. “He wasn’t emotionally stable to run such a trial. It’s weird how you got scott free, since everybody here thinks you are better off in prison, or better yet, dead. I don’t know what sort of protection you have with the law men, but you better believe that you will never be accepted as a shadowhunter.” 

Others gathered around, listening intently to the conversation. A circle was formed where Jonathan was standing, his “lay low” strategy gone to the gutters.  
“I, it’s not really my decision-” 

“No, you listen. I suggest you get the hell out of this place, and leave the rest of us alone. We already have to clean up your mess, we don’t want you here reminding us of things we want to forget. Go to a REAL rehabilitation program, somewhere far away, some might call it a psychologist, get your issues fixed. You don’t belong here.” The man, likely to be at his late 20’s, motioned to the rest of the people who were giving him hateful looks. “Nobody here likes you. The war is over and we’d like to move on. But not with you. Trust me, I am a mild one. There are people right now trying to get tail on you and hurt you. Do yourself a favor and leave.” 

Not giving Jonathan room to comment, he walked away, shoving him with a rough shoulder. The second the bulky man left along with his friend and the circle that had formed quickly dissipated. It looked as though some wanted to comment, but then there was class to get to, and people ended up leaving without a word, but looking quite displeased. 

The hallways were cleared and only then did Jonathan realize that he forgot the directions he was given while being confronted. Shaking with irritation, he kicked the wall. Ow, he thought. What a horrible fucking day. 

5 minutes of anxious searching had led Jonathan to a classroom with the number 544 written on top. Finally. 

While turning the knob, Jonathan clung to the distant hope that his teacher would be perhaps more understanding than his peers, and might forgive his tardy.

Waiting by the doorframe, he cleared his throat to get attention. “Excuse me?” 

It felt odd to address a teacher, since the only teacher he ever had was his father. And his experience with his father teaching him wasn’t that great. Were all teachers condescending and unrelenting? He couldn’t really know. 

Belatedly, he noticed to his great dismay, that the teacher wasn’t there alone. Wasn’t I supposed to have private lessons? he thought in horror, while staring back at 20 pairs of eyes glued to his presence. 

“Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, I appreciate that you bothered to bless us with your presence,” the teacher said with a rigid frown. Jonathan still in shock, just stared back, apparently looking confused because the next thing the teacher said was- “It means you’re late. Come in and sit down.”   
Jonathan swallowed his spit. Giving the teacher a nod of affirmation, he walked into the classroom, and awkwardly sat down in the last row, in a seat that looked the most isolated. On his way there he felt whispers, and sneers, and complaints; a quiet uproar slowly brewing just because of him. Taking out his used Ancient Latin books, he tried to look anywhere but at the teacher. 

No one continued with the lesson. 

“Excuse me,” a young woman raised her hand, and did not wait for permission to talk. “I believe Sebastian got confused, this is Linguistics, not jail. Maybe someone should point him in the right direction?”

The majority of the students burst out laughing at the comment, and others nodded their agreement. A few even clapped their hands. Jonathan shivered at the use of his old name. 

“I believe just yesterday we learned how to neutralize a demon, maybe we can have our very own experiment?” One student quipped, laughing. 

“I do not have demon blood anymore,” Jonathan murmured, the others barely catching. 

“What is it? Guys can you believe it? His father’s experiments have finally worked, he managed to create the first ever talking garbage!”

The guy stood on his chair while saying it, and his eyes glowed as the other’s laughed, quite satisfied with his remark. The shadowhunter was relatively short, with a big nose, and dark eyes. Jonathan swore he remembered him from somewhere. Maybe he has seen him in the war? It didn’t matter. He just wished people would stop looking at him. He couldn’t even comment anymore since his voice had gone dry. 

“Quit it Sam, you’re not funny,” a pretty brunette rolled her eyes, not joining the others in laughter. “This is a serious issue. I lost an uncle in that war.” 

“Hey, I didn’t put him in the class!” the elder teen, which now Jonathan knows is named Sam, glared back at the brunette. 

“Yeah Anne, stop being such a bitch about it. It’s not Sam’s fault they let a murderer into our institute.” 

“Anthony, language,” the teacher finally spoke out. He slid his glasses closer towards his eyes, and gave Anthony a serious look. 

“I didn’t know they let murderers get a degree nowadays anyways,” Anthony continued, uncaring of the teacher’s scrutiny. 

“Anthony that’s quite enough.” 

“But Mr. Gonzalas, didn’t you tell us before class started that Sebastian was responsible for the entire war and that having him here is why voting for Robert was the biggest mistake you ever made?” 

Jonathan retracted back on his chair, his breath catching in his throat. He truly didn’t belong here. The teacher didn’t even have an impartial view, it was wrong to put him here. Being in a closed place, with so many people, it made Jonathan feel claustrophobic. He felt suffocated. It was like a recurring of the trial. Jonathan was about to flee the classroom, damn the consequences, but then the teacher spoke. 

“WILL EVERYBODY BE QUIET. This is ridiculous, I will not have talks of politics in my classroom. I am aware of what I said, but right now, as of this moment, I swear the next person who even makes a comment about... his appearance here will go out and never come back in! Am I clear?” 

“But Mr-”

“AM I CLEAR? I am a linguistics teacher, not a prosecutor, now turn to page 132. We are learning the functions of different accented letters. And I want complete silence.” 

The rest of the lesson was uneventful, but peacefully quiet. Nobody said a word, all Jonathan heard was the teacher talking, and his head pounding. He took notes, but he was already fluent in Latin, so he didn’t need to pay much attention. People have, thankfully, stopped paying attention to him. But he knew it was only temporary.   
Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. 

It felt as if though time stood still. The noise the clock made matched the pounding in his head. Jonathan managed to suppress a groan. By the time the lesson was over, he felt mentally exhausted. He vaguely wondered when the day will be over with. He recalled that the next lesson, he was due in the tracks. Running; finally an activity that requires no interaction with other people. 

Leaving the classroom behind as quickly as possible, Jonathan returned home and changed back to his training clothes. Once finished, he went in search for the tracks. He found himself outside relatively fast, after seeing a group of teenagers his age gathered around one of the older buildings of city. He followed the trail from there straight to a grass covered field and from there onto the tracks. Upon arriving, Jonathan realized that, for a change, he was not late. Looking around, he saw groups of people around chattering mindlessly, and some individuals busy doing stretches. He felt a calm wash over him, as he awkwardly made way to sitting in a far distant place where no one could see him, left to his thoughts. 

Currently, he was leaning against the bleachers, and the shade gave him a comforting chill. It got quieter, and more peaceful. Jonathan isolated the noise around him, and sank deeper into himself. Letting his guard down for the very first time that day, he started thinking about the entire situation he was stuck in, and how he got to it. He sighed and closed his eyes shut. Ever since Jonathan was a small child he was taught to be better than everyone else. He had withheld all of his father’s trials- whether it was that one time Valentine forced him to enter a cage full of rampant animals and made him stay there, to toughen him up. Or that other time when he was three, and his father locked him up in the basement till dusk, leaving him to deal with his fear of darkness for the very first time. He never complained- even when Valentine visited Jace more than him, he never said a word. He kept quiet and did as he was told. There was no incentive, no rewards for good behavior, only a small nod in return. And it was enough. 

It made Jonathan realize that even in hardship, there is comfort in family. As little as Valentine had provided, it was something. Now that his mind was clearer, he felt that yearning again- for family. He remembered the dream he had of Clary, of him and her sitting on a throne while the world burned down in front of them. How he wishes he could just accept her attempts at reconciling, flip over a new page and pretend nothing happened. She didn’t leave him, he reminded himself, it was Jocelyn who left him. Maybe she didn’t truly despise his company?

Which led him to another thought. If he had not been turned wicked, had he not possessed the demon blood that coursed through his veins, could there have been an alternate universe where he and Clary would be close? That he would be doing all that sibling nonsense with her, like... whatever siblings do he did not know, but he bet they would have done it.   
In a short while, everybody started running, and unaware, Jonathan joined them, still in deep thought. Alongside the sweet memories of his sister, his thoughts trailed to darker territory. Jonathan could almost recall now, in perfect detail, how it felt like to murder Sebastian. How easy it was to carry his name, to take on a different man’s identity. Back then, Jonathan was a skin he wanted desperately to peel off, happily stepping out of it and into a new one. Right now, it couldn’t be more different. He wanted to be called Jonathan again, to wash and rid himself of the old skin, Sebastian's skin which tainted him far beyond redemption. He wanted to stop feeling so unclean, to stop feeling as if his skin was soaked in blood he couldn’t wash off in any shower.

Reminiscing in bad memories, Jonathan didn’t even notice when a foot suddenly blocked his path. In a few seconds’ time, Jonathan crashed into the ground, slung painfully onto his side. The bruises weren’t really damaging, but it did snap him out of his reverie and put him on high alert. 

"Way to go champ!" Jace waved at him from the other lane, and continued running, smirking slightly to himself.

Jonathan wrinkled his nose in response and pushed himself back up, wiping the dust off his clothes. He knew that nobody would stop and wait for him, and the one who had tripped him was probably way gone and snickering. He was now far behind, struggling to close the gap between him and the rest of the group.

He bit his lip and continued running. 

He was supposed to be better than everyone else. He gave up his childhood for it, he had given up his life for it. Then why was it so hard for him to prove it?


	5. Chapter 5

After the tiring day was over, Jonathan collapsed on the bed without even bothering to touch his dinner. The next day he woke up to the same routine. Training, lessons, training, _break_ , another lesson.

Jonathan would go into class, and sit at the backside, listening and not listening to the lesson. He would take notes, he would read the pages he needed to read, he would restudy old material that he knew better than anybody else. Then, when the lesson would be over, he would walk out of the room, and skulk silently to his next designation.   

The routine gave him something to focus on. After giving it some thought, he had come to a decision that he would not speak to Clary. Ultimately, it would be better for her. She was still trying at times, but he would always find excuses to not develop any sort of actual conversation.

With Jace he didn’t need to think of excuses. Jace already kept all conversations to a bare minimum. The only interaction they had was when he was training him, and instructing him what to do.

Jonathan, in time, felt himself rebuilding his strengths, and fighting Jace would get easier with every new lesson. What puzzled Jonathan most about the ordeal was that Jace was actually making an effort to train him, at least more than was strictly necessary of him. The most productive time of his day was in the training arena, where he would practice different fighting techniques.

A week easily passed that way, with him following his every day schedule, and the others slowly accepting his presence in their lives. Jonathan knew no one was close to forgiving him, but the anger ebbed away, and life did eventually go on. It wasn’t as much acceptance as it was tolerance. At least, that’s what he thought since he rarely interacted with others.

Disconnected from the rest, he began to feel some normalcy in his life, and one day he allowed himself to be in a surprising relatively good mood when fighting against Jace.

“On your guard.” Jace paced all the way back from the other side of the room, trailing his weapon of choice in an outstretched hand. The atmosphere felt uncharacteristically calm, the usual tense air dissolving into an aura of concentration. “Better hope you don’t fall this time.”

“I’m not counting on it.” Jonathan found himself murmuring, feeling almost comfortable.

For the past half an hour they had been doing warm ups. Warm ups weren’t ever easy. Jace tended to override him. He claimed it was because he found it enjoyable to see him sweat, but whatever the motive, it did end up helping Jonathan regain arm and upper body strength. _All those pushups._

Currently, they were face to face, Jonathan’s recently turned green eyes staring deep into Jace’s golden ones. Jace was still unused to the odd color; the softness it held. He was used to those unnerving pools of black, and to the demonic feeling it possessed, not something so... human.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable and intrusive, Jace glanced away, leaving Jonathan to make the first move. The first hit caught him off guard, as he was still thinking about how different, how much more _normal_ Jonathan looked with human eyes. The thought unnerved him, and he quickly shook the notion away, composing himself for combat.

 _It’s just eyes,_ he thought. _It doesn’t erase anything._

Jace retaliated to the attack with a kick, which was carefully calculated to rapture the area of the ribs. Alert and sound to quick changes, Jonathan slid to the left, leaving a light breeze where Jace’s foot hit the open air.

“Your reflexes are getting better,” Jace commented. They continued to duel, picking up quicker speed with the swords.

“After some of the cuts you left, I learned to be more careful.”

Up to the side, Jonathan met Jace’s steel, and brought it down slowly. Confused, Jace made a quick motion to Jonathan’s right, which Jonathan deflated.

“What is your tactic?” Jace wondered aloud. Jonathan’s slower moves made his opponent speed his up. But even with slower attacks, Jonathan seemed to calculate what Jace was about to do next, and his face bore that look of careful concentration.

Later, when Jace’s mind wasn’t preoccupied with other thoughts, he would realize that Jonathan had been studying his actions and been using his motions against him. He already knew what he was going to do, how he fought, and now that knowledge was put to the test.

Circling around the room, Jace retaliated with his full force, adrenaline coursing and his mind numb.

He felt a lapse in time, and for a second he thought he imagined Sebastian in Jonathan’s stead, laughing at him; eyes black as night. The mishap made Jace stop, and shake his head, giving Jonathan room to attack.

Jace felt out of breath, and inhaled sharply, his chest heaving up and down. His forehead was sweaty, and his hair disheveled. Caught unprepared, the series of moves which followed made the blond stagger back a few paces. Straightforward, Jonathan cut the sleeves of his his shirt, leaving a red trail of blood where the weapon collided with his skin.

Swinging back and forth, Jace struggled to keep up, focusing on Jonathan’s hand gestures which were picking up fast pace. While thoroughly distracted, Jonathan managed to creep up from the side, and put a foot in just the right place so that Jace lost his footing, and stumbled flat onto the ground.

At the contact with the floor, he shut his eyes, and hissed a string of curses, letting his hands go lax, and his weapon drop to the ground.

With an air of finality, Jonathan pointed his sword to Jace’s chest, claiming the victory.

A few seconds of silence ensued, where neither of them spoke. Jace, hit with reality, suddenly felt the weight on his chest, and realized at what position he was in. Given the chance, Jonathan could _easily_ pull the sword through him, effectively killing him, and for Jace to be in that position of vulnerability was definitely not wise.

Gathering his wits, Jace zoomed to an upright position, clearing his throat and straightening his back. “You’re dismissed.”

“Uh, we have like half an hour left-”

“Not anymore. Today’s session is over.”

Jace, feeling the drops of blood oozing from his shoulder, took off his training shirt to dab the bruises with the material. The cuts weren’t deep, they were actually pretty superficial, and the shirt wasn’t too expensive... but the idea that Jonathan caused them made Jace feel irrationally irritated. Training him was a stupid idea. Why must the burden of babysitting always fall on him?

Looking up, Jace saw that Jonathan was still glued to his spot, staring dumbly at him. “You’re still here?”

“Oh, right... sorry,” he finished lamely. Jonathan returned everything to its proper place, and was just gathering his items to leave when a person barged into the room.

“You are all called to the main auditorium. Robert Lightwood has got an announcement to make.”

The young looking messenger boy didn’t even leave them room to reply before wheezing back out to the next group of people.

Jace turned his gaze to Jonathan, and said, “Better get going. I’ll be getting myself a new shirt. Thanks for that.”

On his way out, Jace conveniently shoved Jonathan with a rough shoulder, walking out with the bitter taste of this match’s defeat in his mouth.

Jonathan was still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Winning, at anything, since he woke up changed had been near inexistent. Everything he had done led to disappointing results, and he was forced to deal with failure on multiple occasions, something he wasn’t used to before. Now, feeling that burst of pride, that _energetic_ feeling of triumph; a part of him felt powerful again. Like his old self, but without the hollow aftertaste.

With renewed energies, and a stupid half smile on his face, Jonathan decided to follow his orders, and scattered out in a completely different direction than Jace, on his way to find wherever the hell the main auditorium was.

 

~

“How’s it going?” Jonathan asked Clary as he politely shoved his way through the masses of people and onto the main auditorium. He didn’t like the idea that they cut his routine short to announce a message, and even more did he dislike the idea of being near so many people. It took a lot of effort to make himself disappear, or rather, seem irrelevant in the eyes of the shadowhunters surrounding him. A system that fragile requires just a slight shove to make it collapse, and then everyone would be on him yet again. That’s what he feared. They were still angry, they still didn’t want him here; _reminding them_ would cause a disturbance in the very limited quiet Jonathan managed to procure for himself.   _And god did he want quiet_. Especially after a relatively _good_ day.  

“You’re talking to me?” Clary raised an eyebrow. She didn’t look altogether mad, just naturally surprised.

“Oh I,” he faltered. Jonathan mentally belittled himself for forgetting his promise to not speak to Clary. She just looked familiar and inviting and he really didn’t want to be friendless in such a large crowd.

Seeing Jonathan looking uncomfortable and ready to abandon the notion of sticking around, Clary grabbed his elbow and turned to meet his gaze.  “No, I’m sorry. I was taken aback is all. I’m fine.”

“Oh, that’s.. good. I mean, fine is good. I’m fine... as well.”  

“Oh, cool.” She stared down at her shoes. They entered the auditorium together, alongside many others, a blur of faces passing them from place to place.

“Did Jess tell you to come here? It’s a bit odd. He told us to come here, but he didn’t really elaborate on why-” She was cut short when one of the people standing behind them pushed Jonathan, hurling him forward. Clary, flustered, helped him get back up, hearing a soft curse word uttered as he wiped dust off his clothes. “I sure hope it’s not bad news,” she continued meekly, ignoring the tense situation.

Jonathan simply nodded, and they walked side by side to their seats, which was placed to the side of the front row.

Jonathan sat down on the absolute left seat, with Clary seated to his right. Gathered around in the auditorium were a crowd of undoubtedly thousands of shadowhunters, all of those who were currently lodging in Indris while their homes were being rebuilt.

Clary scanned the crowd, searching for Jace’s familiar blond hair, or for her mother, but found no one she knew. There were just too many people. Sighing, she contented herself with searching for them later.

“We’re likely to see them soon.” Jonathan tried to be comforting, seeing how Clary was fidgeting around in her seat.

Clary averted her gaze from the crowd to stare at him. It had been a while since he initiated conversation, and she didn’t want to discourage him from the idea.

“You’re probably right. Mom’s probably with Luke,” she said conversationally, and stopped for a second before continuing. “Jace is probably with Alec and Isabelle.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask-”

The sudden burst of clapping drowned out his voice, and he didn’t get to finish his sentence. The attendants quieted down, and the loud voices which before drilled a hole in his skull have slowly, but surely, disappeared. The last of the people standing about hurried to find their place in the few seats that were left empty in the room.

The Inquisitor, Robert Lightwood, rose to a small stage, adorned professionally in a well-adjusted suit. Jonathan could see from where he was seated the bags under his eyes, and the tired expression he bore. Robert’s eyes were scanning the crowd one person to the next, probably in search for him. Settling on a spot, he picked up the microphone to begin his speech.

“Hello there. You are probably wondering why we have gathered you all here today.” Robert’s voice was strong as usual, and his gestures sharp. “I have a joyful message to give you. After certain events we have been left to clean up damages in our institutes. You have been staying here as a result. I am happy to announce that as of today, after weeks of hard work, we have finished cleaning up the cities and it is safe to return.”

A loud uproar seized the crowd, many joined in clapping, and happy comments were said to one another. It was without a doubt many have been awaiting their return home. The rebuilding took a much shorter time than anticipated, and however happy, some were left confused. Robert, with a hand signaling silence, took his stand to further explain.

“While dealing with... other causes,” Robert gave a side glance at Jonathan, and curled his lip into a tight line, “we have been equipping our best forces to repair what has been done, and have been joined with many volunteers. Our top priority was, and still is, to restore peace, and to let everyone return to their normal lives. We need to start functioning once again. I want shadowhunters to return to their workplace, and to their duties, as well as help those wounded in war.” Robert donned a more serious face, and his voice turned sad when he spoke. “Although the streets are clean, the horrors of the war still linger with us. I know the time in this Institute has been helping many cope with the loss. Many have felt anger, or resentment for decisions that have been made, and some unwilling to forgive. I would like to take advantage of this status to make a formal apology to those who were offended with some of the decisions made, and I want you to know your loss and anger is valid. I would not ask anyone to forgive actions that have no foreseeable redemption. However, I would like you to see the ministry doesn’t have any bad intentions in mind.  You might be surprised to see that even the worst people can be trained for good. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

It was not lost on anybody who Robert was talking about. There were scoffs, and there were sneers, and there were comments; but with the good news, many were able to overlook it. Jonathan was surprised that the Inquisitor, the highest ranking official, who hated his guts, was willing to set his hatred aside and use his position to put in a word of kindness. It was obvious someone had talked him into it, the discontentment was clear in his eyes, and Jonathan knew nothing was fixed with a sentence of tolerance, but it was more than he ever could have hoped for.

A slight weight eased in his chest, making the burden a feather lighter. Robert himself looked a bit miffed at what he ended up saying, but regained his composure to conclude the meeting. “Now, with renewed energies, we will continue to keep the world safe from harm, and I want each and every one of you to go home and continue fighting the battle. You can start packing today, thank you for your patience and have a good day.”

Exiting the stage, Robert left behind him a turmoil , and many broke in conversation. Jonathan could vaguely hear some people talk about their trip home, their long missed beds, their plans for the future. Others had started a more political talk. Most noticeably, next to him, a group of shadowhunters who looked to be in their late 30’s were sharing a heated debate. They didn’t notice Jonathan, which was good, since their topic of discussion was about him.

“Robert’s speech is all bullshit,” one of the older looking men scoffed, his face contorted in disgust. “He’s trying to cover his own mistake by pulling some ethics card. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right’, my ass. Did you see how he gave the good news shortly before to soften the blow? It was to distract people from what is subliminal in the message.”

A woman, looking slightly younger, and frailer, seemed to share a different view. “Robert is just trying to forget bad times, Ron. All of us lost people in the war, and now he is looking for peaceful times ahead for us. If you were Inquisitor, wouldn’t you think it’s better for us to calm down and see the optimistic future instead of indulging in revenge filled wishes?”

“That’s exactly my point! He doesn’t _want_ people to be outraged. It’s normal for us to seek justice, to feel anger at not being given it. He doesn’t want ‘peaceful times’, he wants to silence us. With this decision, many of the political figures are already beginning to question his position as Inquisitor. He wants to reinforce the idea that he is not in the wrong, that we should keep quiet and let a war criminal roam free. I’m not buying into that.”

He paused for a second, looking around and lowering his voice. Jonathan strained to hear what they were saying, the only thing he could make out was something about protests. But before he could ponder what it meant, Clary grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“Let’s go pack. People are starting to act weird.”

Jonathan wasn’t paying too close attention to her, so he wasn’t sure if she heard the conversation that he just overheard or not. Was she thinking the same thing he did?

Did that shadowhunter have a point? Now thinking over it, it did make sense. Jonathan felt tense once more, and let it out in a sigh. _Might as well go pack_ , he thought.

“Oh there’s Jace!” Clary cheered, snapping Jonathan from his thoughts. Overjoyed, she yelled Jace’s name, waving at his direction.

Jace spotted her immediately, and gave her a warm smile. When he saw Jonathan next to her however, his smile slowly faded away. He motioned for her to come, but with a look that told her at what condition. Alec and Isabelle, as Clary predicted, were next to him. There was no option to bring Jonathan over.

Jonathan, aware of Clary’s dilemma, focused his attention elsewhere. If it was a choice between Jonathan, ex murderer and convicted felon, and Jace, perfect boyfriend which everyone else adored- was there truly a dilemma at all? Jonathan believed not.

To his utter surprise, Clary mouthed the words ‘I’m sorry’ to Jace and turned her attention back to Jonathan. “So are you coming?”   

~

Jonathan and Clary were the first to arrive back home. Parting from Clary, Jonathan sped up the stairs to his room. If there was one thing that he did not want happening, it was being unprepared to move tomorrow. He had much to organize. Unlike Jace, who was an obsessive clean freak, Jonathan didn’t put too much effort into cleaning up after himself- he threw his stuff all over the place. He knew his room resembled a burgled house, with shirts and books in various places where shirts and books shouldn’t be. So he did have some work to do.

Halfway up the staircase, after a quick stop at the restroom to straighten himself out, he heard knocking on the door. It followed footsteps and voices, and a screech that meant whoever knocked on the door managed to open it and close it after coming in.

Jonathan turned around in his place. The staircase was circular, and he was currently in a spot that faced away from the living room. Whoever came in wouldn’t be able to see him, so he likely could still sneak into his room undetected.

Hearing the footsteps get louder, he guessed that it was his mom coming back from the auditorium. He toyed with the idea of coming down. Although he liked the prospect of avoiding her, it was incredibly rude to do so. She did, after all, despise him less than everybody else.

Jonathan froze in place when he heard a different pair of voices. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted blond hair.

As an act of instinct, Jonathan pinned himself to the wall, and willed himself to listen- hidden from the eyes of the others. Just in time, apparently, since the conversation seemed to have taken a more argumentative turn.

“I can’t believe you did that Clary! You know how embarrassing that little scene was? Alec and Isabelle are convinced you like him more than me now. You choose _that thing_ over me!” Jace’s tone was furious, and got more vocal the longer he kept talking.  

Clary exhaled loudly, in what almost sounded like an indignant scoff. “Don’t call him _that thing._ In case you’ve forgotten _that thing_ is my brother. And you promised to try and make it work.” Clary sounded like she was on the verge of tears, obviously it wasn’t the first time this topic had been breached. “You said you would.”

“It’s hardly relevant what I promised when you’re prancing around, avoiding me and hanging out with him all the time _._ Is he manipulating you, Clary? Do you feel compelled to love him again? Is he pursuing you-”

“ _Stop._ No one is pursuing anyone. I’m insulted at what you’re insinuating. Are-are you saying you think he’s got me under some curse? Do you think I’m in love with him?”

“I honestly don’t know Clary.”

Clary let out a humorless laugh, and took her head in her hands. She turned around, and Jonathan could see from the corner of his vision her fiery red hair, and her aggravated expression. He pinned himself even further to the wall, daring himself not to breathe. “This is ridiculous. Get your head out of your ass, Jace. I’m _fine._ Jonathan’s... well he’s trying to be fine. The only one who is not acting fine is you. You are acting delusional and insecure, and I feel like it’s time to maybe fix your own issues.”

Jace found himself dumbfounded, at loss for words. She was trying to pin the blame on _him?_ She was twisting his words against him, making _him_ seem like a jealous boyfriend; invalidating his opinions. And worst of all, she did it all while making Jonathan look so pure and innocent, making Jace the unreasonable one. He felt his anger rise up at the thought of her defending him.

_Where was he when you were in danger? Where was his good nature when he was causing us all grief and pain?_

“So let me get this straight,” Jace balled his hands into fists, willing himself to not lose control of his temper. His tone became oddly sarcastic. “I’m the bad guy, he’s the good guy? Okay. Fine.”

“You’re acting so bloody childish! There’s no good guy or bad guy, there’s me trying to make it work and you putting me in a position where I have to choose between you and Jonathan.”

“ _And you choose him._ ”

At this point, Clary raised her hand in disbelief, utterly amazed at his complete narrow mindedness. She suddenly felt extremely weary of their argument. Deciding to be the bigger person, she lowered her voice to a gentle plea.  “Please Jace, I don’t want to fight.”

“Then show me that I matter more than him.”

She let out a scoff of disbelief. Again, she felt her infuriation grow at his mindless comment. She didn’t need to prove anything to him.  “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Well then maybe this relationship isn’t going to work.”

Jonatan, tired of listening to arguments about him, tiptoed quietly up the stairs.

“Fine, then maybe we should break up.”

Deafening silence took place, so prominent it was that Jonathan was sure they could hear his ragged breathing. Even without doing anything, he somehow managed to split them up. He knew Jace would find a way to blame him for this, and he really _really_ didn’t want to be on Jace’s bad side more than he already was.

Jocelyn, with the absolute worst timing, decided to come in with groceries in hand. She was in a relatively good mood, probably due to the fact they were all going home. Unaware of what just transpired, she continued walking in, acting tactlessly. “Oh hello darlings. Luke has helped me pick up some things for a meal before we leave. Now who’s in the mood for some chicken soup?”

Finally getting a good look at the solemn faces of her daughter and her boyfriend, Jocelyn gave a weak chuckle. “Are you guys arguing again? What is it now- who died?”

“Well it seems to be what was left of my relationship with Clary.”

“Jace...”

Clary put a hand on his shoulder, and he brushed it off. Jocelyn gave Clary a puzzled look, and felt even more bewildered when Jace strode heavily towards the door and slammed it shut with a resolute _THUD_.

“Clary is everything okay?” her mother asked, sounding concerned.

Clary shook her head, swallowing a whimper, and took off up the stairs to her room, hidden tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to talk to Jocelyn about it. She was still trying to process what had just happened. She couldn’t believe Jace would be so quick to give up on their relationship. How was he able to leave her behind feeling so hurt?  

Clary, so distraught in her thoughts, didn’t notice the solid form blocking her way at her scurry up the second level of the stairs. Consequentially she bumped into the form, knocking them both off their feet, and onto the staircase below.

Dizzy from the fall, she found herself lying on top of a body, hands held out to his sides to balance her fall.

“Jonathan?” she murmured, dazed.

Jonathan cheeks heated up in embarrassment, hyper aware of the close proximity they were sharing. Hurriedly, he tried getting up, but only succeeded in shouldering Clary by accident, and falling back into an a bruising position.

“Uh, Clary, space... I...”

She quirked an eyebrow at his obvious discomfort, and disentangled herself from him, rubbing her injured side; the place where Jonathan’s shoulder collided.

Momentarily, she forgot about Jace. It only took a few seconds for it to come crashing back, and she found herself once again trying to hold back angry tears. She didn’t want Jonathan to see her this way, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak to him at all. It was stupid to blame him for what happened, but a small part of her wanted to. If she wouldn’t blame him, then she would find a way to blame herself... or Jace, and she really didn’t want to do that either.

“Were you eavesdropping on us??”

“I... uhm, was not doing that. I just came down right now, to get another suitcase.”

Jonathan felt bad about lying, but the last thing he needed now was to intervene in whatever problem Clary had with Jace, especially since it was concerning him.

Clary looked like she was debating whether to talk to him about what happened, and Jonathan did feel a small pull against his heart strings. But before he could consider the option, he pulled himself up and walked down the stairs to get a supposed suitcase, leaving behind a sad and disappointed Clary.

 ~

 

Early the next morning, the entire house was in a state of disorder.

Robert, during his speech, had suggested that people should get their stuff ready yesterday, but being the unbelievably disorganized family that they were- 10 minutes before leaving, they still had 3 suitcases left to pack.

Jonathan found himself finishing earlier than everybody else, having so few belongings. He gathered the shirts Jace gave him, and the books he had scattered around and shoved them all into a small bag he was given. He knew that he would have to go shopping for clothes real soon, unless he wanted to keep moving around with Jace’s smell on him. Not that it was a bad smell, mind you, but he already saw enough of him as it is, without having to be reminded of him wherever he goes. On the bright side, having Jace’s scent might prove to ward off werewolves, if indeed there were downworlders in search for him.  

Feeling relatively useless cooped up in his empty room, Jonathan ventured downstairs to get himself a bite to eat. On the table laid breakfast, consisting of a platter of pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Jonathan helped himself to a few pieces as he waited for everyone to get ready.

In due time, they all arrived, one after the other. Luke was helping Jocelyn with her belongings, followed by Clary, who looked even worse than yesterday. Her eyes were puffy, and she looked as if she hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“Let’s go,” Luke said, dragging two small suitcases behind him. “I’ve got the arrangements ready.”

~

 

Jonathan, Clary, Jocelyn and Luke strolled along the narrow streets of Idris, among the many shadowhunters who crowded the paved roads. The morning had that busy, buzzing noise, and a slight breeze accompanied the warm weather. Jonathan gave the city one final look, knowing he wasn’t likely to see it again for a very long time.

From where he was standing he could see the Accords Hall, and the old buildings; those buildings that looked as though they were designed by a promising architect straight from the 19th century. There was something somewhat nostalgic about those buildings, the way they held that homey feeling that beckoned you to come in and drink tea over the fireplace. Above them, the walls of glass shimmered, radiant and breathtaking. Even in his old persona, Jonathan was always able to admire the beauty it held, how unlike anything else it was.

The familiarity made his lips quirk up in a half smile, and he dropped his gaze to Clary. He remembered that time he explained to her how there were no cars in the city - the only method of transportation was by horse. That same time he wore the identity of Sebastian Verlac, but with losing that identity a long time ago, he was no longer able to use the horse of the Verlac family as he did during that time.

 _Sebastian_. Jonathan grimaced at the thought. He almost forgot about that poor teen he killed and threw away in the river. How easy it was to fool the impressionable young thing. He recalled Sebastian's fascination with his ability to hunt demons, his desire to learn from  him.

Thinking about it, he realized he still needed to tell Robert where the body lies. That boy deserves a proper burial, and his aunt deserves a proper goodbye. Jonathan can't just hope that the problem will magically resolve itself, however difficult the task.

He shook himself from those depressing thoughts. It was impractical to open the issue now, when he had so many others. Now he just needed to focus on getting to New York.

When he lifted his head, Jonathan could see that they had exited the city - what seemed to him like a few minutes turned out to be in reality half an hour.

That was the moment they came to an halt. In the near distance, by the gathering of the crowd, stood the figure of Magnus Bane. Magnus, who was still recovering from the war, looked weary and ill, and it was visible that he had lost a few pounds since the last time they had seen him.

Jonathan knew it was because of him. He felt that ever growing, perpetual trace of guilt that he seemed to carry with him wherever he went. With the dirty look Magnus gave him, he was sure that that was what he was hoping for, for him to feel that guilt.  

He averted his gaze from his, looking elsewhere.

"The shadowhunters of the New York Institute will be the first ones crossing the gateway," said one of the leading officers, holding an abundance of filed papers, and motioning with his free hand for Magnus to open the portal.

While Magnus was performing the craft of opening the portal, Jonathan could see Jace, Alec, Isabelle and Robert appearing from nowhere, making their way to the front of the line, where they allegedly stood. After Magnus freed up, Alec said something to him that led to a kiss. Meanwhile, Jace and Isabelle were moving with smiling faces to greet Jocelyn and Luke, with Alec shortly following suit.  

Acting as though he belonged while everybody else was making small talk proved to be difficult, and Jonathan found himself kicking a nearby pebble while waiting, making himself look busy. Thankfully, he didn’t have to distract himself for too long though, because shortly after the portal was open, shadowhunters began pouring through the entrance.

Jocelyn passed first, accompanied by the Lightwood family. Luke whispered something to Clary, who replied with a distinctive shake ‘no’, but quickly succumbed with a sigh after a little persuasion. Once Clary disappeared, she left behind Jonathan with Luke, who was giving him a stern look, as if in warning.

“I promised Jocelyn that you will go first, so I will be able to make sure that you don’t pull any funny business, and truly go through the entrance.”

Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “Thanks for the consideration,” he replied somewhat sarcastically, and took a step forward- into the gate.

The first thing Jonathan saw as he stepped out was a building. He was standing in front of the Institute of New York, in a place which resembled a backside lawn. Beautiful greenery surrounded him, and fresh air blew from the nearby trees.

“I’m sorry,” he heard someone say suddenly, and when he looked forward, he could see it was Jace who was the one apologizing.

Clary, who Jonathan noticed just now, pulled her hair behind her ear. “We both over exaggerated. I’m sorry too.” Jace smiled at her apology, and embraced her.

The next thing Clary said was spoken so quietly, that Jonathan wasn’t able to pick up on it. He inferred it had something to do with him, since Jace always gave a certain irritated look whenever Clary ever mentioned him in a conversation, and that was the look he was baring right now.

A few seconds later, Clary was giving him meaningful, pleading eyes, which Jace returned, somewhat begrudgingly with a nod.  

And like that, the breakup that lasted less than a day was over.

“If I may have your attention for a few minutes, please,” Jonathan immediately recognized the firm tone of the Inquisitor, having heard it more than a few times in the past month. Glancing to his right, in a small distance from him, Robert stood, with Alec besides him.  

Having him so near him once again made Jonathan feel even more uncomfortable than before, if such a thing was possible. That was the man who was in charge of his life, as it so seemed, from now on. Even with the whole _two wrongs don’t make a right_ speech, Jonathan was doubtful the man grew a liking for him. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he quickly shook it off on instinct. Seeing who it was, he quickly regretted it.

Jocelyn looked disappointed, maybe a bit sad even. It wasn’t like Jonathan caused her much joy as it is, and even now he managed to take what little comfort she could give him. Great. _More guilt._

“As you know, Clary, Jocelyn and Lucian will be making their way back to their home in New York. My family will continue to live in the institute. So I guess it’s here that we part ways.” Jonathan could feel Jocelyn moving next to him in discomfort. Only a few seconds later did he realized that it was because Robert hadn’t mentioned his name in the list of people returning to their home in New York.   

“What about my son?” Jocelyn inquired. She sounded irritated, it was clear she didn’t want to abandon him, now that she just got the chance to bond... however limited that bonding may have been.  

Robert met her gaze for a second before replying. “The order and I have debated and we’ve come to a decision that Sebastian-”

“Jonathan,” Jonathan corrected to himself.

“-can’t leave with you and Clary to your home. You must agree with me that in light of recent events, it would hardly be appropriate to leave him so soon without supervision-”

“The time I checked, I am a full grown adult.” Jocelyn commented hotly. She was not impressed with where the conversation was leading.

“Jocelyn, please leave it alone.” Luke whispered in her ear, but it seemed as though she didn’t even hear him.

Robert, a bit peeved at having to explain himself further, specified his meaning of 'supervision'. “Supervision from sources that aren’t likely to be manipulated, or affected by him, is what I meant.”

Jace smiled from the back, looking victorious. For the first time, Jace wasn’t looking at him with malice, or scorn, but rather with something resembling satisfaction - it was obvious what he was thinking. He wouldn’t need to suffer Jonathan anymore. He wouldn’t need to pretend to not despise him to please Clary. He would be able to visit her without him getting in the way of their _perfect_ relationship.

But like an alarm clock to a good dream, Robert shattered Jace’s hopes, and caused much dismay to many of the people in the room with one short statement. “That’s why it’s been decided that he will live in the Institute of New York, where we can keep a close eye on him.”

Jace’s smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t be serious,” Clary busted into the conversation, her face heated the color of her hair, “Jonathan has every right to live with his family-”

“No, he doesn’t have that right. He lost those rights. Currently, his rights are not being in prison. Or worse, executed. The privilege he gets, after so many murdered, is being able to simply exist in the outside world. So don’t get me started about rights, Clarissa, we are being more than flexible.”

Jace quickly intervened, sensing the opportunity slip from his fingers. “Clary is right, this decision is not practical. You think we’ll be able to take better care of him than his family? Barely anybody kept watch on him during our stay at Idris, except Clary. I was forced to train with him, but that’s not bloody likely to happen now. Clary will be able to keep him in line better than anybody else.”

Jonathan was a bit annoyed at being spoken to as if he was a pet someone needed to be burdened with taking care of. But he stayed silent, knowing it was the wiser choice.

“The less you know, Jace, the better. Even during your stay in Idris we have kept a very close watch on Sebastian. Just because you weren’t made aware of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Besides,” Robert cracked a dry smile, and challenged Jace’s stare. “I would think you would be satisfied. I don’t think you’ve forgotten who stood up for him in court.”

Jace was about to comment something on the lines of _How many times are you going to throw it in my face?_ but before he got a word in, Isabelle emerged, speaking for the very first time since they arrived at the Institute. “Can we stop talking as if Jonathan isn’t here, hearing everything we are saying about him?”

After Isabelle’s comment, every last pair of eyes was turned to him. He shut his eyes for a second, and opened them, breathing deeply.

“I-I don’t think anybody cares what I think about the matter, so there’s no real reason for me to intervene.”

“Which is absolutely true,” Robert confirmed, nodding. “The quicker you make peace with the fact that this is not up to debate, the easier it will be for you.”

The things said afterwards, Jonathan recalled vaguely. He remembered Jocelyn saying something about how the entire arrangement was unjust, and that the whole Order was built out of idiots; and Robert informing her that it was a soft punishment to the extent of it being vexing. He remembered Jace saying a couple words about the fact that they would be needing to see him every single day of the week, and Luke trying to persuade Clary and Jocelyn to drop the entire matter.

In the end, Jocelyn uttered words along the line of “It isn’t the last you’re going to hear of me” and made way to leave. On her way off, she stopped suddenly, and assured Jonathan in a soothing voice that it was alright and that they were going to find some solution for this mess.

Jonathan wasn’t able to focus on it all. He simply nodded, not even sure about what. He felt exhausted, from the battle with Jace, the portal, the long walk on foot, the messages they kept piling... he wasn’t even sure that he particularly cared at that moment he wasn’t staying with Jocelyn and Clary. Later, when he would be seeing Jace everyday, and getting cold greetings, he was sure he would, but right now.... he just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep.

But, as life often times would have of him, he needed to continue despite it all. Leaving Clary and Jocelyn behind with a faint goodbye, he entered the Institute with the Lightwoods and Jace; at this point, it started to get dark. They went up the elevator - no one saying a word.

Robert led them all to the main lobby, said a few words on how Jonathan was ‘their responsibility’ for now, and added a few more words on how he had to hurry to check up on the other shadowhunters, and left.    

The second the elevator sound was heard, signaling Robert was out of earshot, Jace started talking. “Oh you’re dead, Sebastian. Just dead. You understand that? You have no idea what I’m going to do. _No idea._ You thought your life was horrible so far? Wait till you get a taste of life with me without Clary. Trust me, up till now I’ve been soft. When I’m finished with you, you will be begging for your mommy to take you far _far_ away from here. Mark my words.”

At this point, Jace was balling his fists into little balls, urging himself not to hit him on instinct. He promised Clary he wouldn’t do that. But Jonathan doesn’t need to know that. A good amount of fear would be good for him, maybe Jace could get rid of him sooner than he’d thought.

Alec, completely having Jace’s back, gave Jonathan a snarling look. “Better not take up too much space, princess; because if you have to stay in our place so we can keep an eye on you, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Isabelle, with unconcealed resentment in her eyes, targeted the anxious shadowhunter, staring him down. Her voice lowered to a warning, quiet sound, her hand scrunching up his shirt in a fist. “Just make sure to stay away from me, you vile cockroach, because I swear to god if I so much as hear a word out of place from you, I will get physical.”

 _If life wasn’t wonderful in Idris, it sure will be now._ Jonathan thought bitterly, as he glanced at all the three vicious faces staring back at him. And on that note, they entered the complex.

  


 


	6. Chapter 6

Days passed in languish at the Institute, and Jonathan thought he was about to crack. He hadn’t known how much he needed the positive reinforcement from Clary and Jocelyn until it was gone, and the entire negative atmosphere surrounded him 24/7. 

Jace was still upset about the whole ordeal of Jonathan staying in the Institute, and without Clary to calm him down, he was as immature about it as he so desired. On the first day, Jonathan was woken up to freezing water and a bucket on his head. Shivering from the cold, he was given the explanation of “Well you didn’t wake up the first time”, and was left alone with his shirt clinging to his chest, teeth clanking.

Another instance happened that very same day, when Jace told him to take out the trash, and then when Jonathan searched for the trash to take out, Jace shoved him out and locked the door. It took a few hours before he was let back in, the rain soaking his clothes and making him shiver yet again. 

During practice, Jace was relentless, and left zero room for Jonathan to best him. With hand on hand combat, he was kicked, and punched, and dropped, and thrown around like a doll for a good part of an hour before he was released to take a cold shower. Even with improvement, Jace was still better, and Jonathan was still sloppy, and that one victory in Idris was not something that was easily repeated. Jace made sure of it. 

To add to his trouble, Alec and Isabelle were frequently seen around, conversing with Jace, but never with him. They talked as if he wasn’t present in the room. Jonathan felt like he was one of those old antique decorations that lost their charm, and were discarded to the side to be ignored. Jonathan resigned himself to not talking much, but it didn't do him much good. Day in and day out snide remarks and unreasonable requests followed him everywhere he went. 

Today Jonathan woke up to a cloudy, chilly morning. Still feeling the remnants of a cold he got from staying outside in the rain last week, Jonathan shrugged on a jacket and slid his way to the dining room. The smell of breakfast filled his nostrils, and he knew that they already started eating without him. Usually, Jonathan was one to wake up earlier than the rest, catch a bite to eat, and leave before all others sat down for breakfast. But lately he had been feeling weak from the long training hours and the cold he recently fought off, so once he got down, he knew inevitably that the others would be as well. 

Reaching closer to the dining room, Jonathan felt the smell getting stronger, and his stomach churn with the reminder of food. To Jonathan it felt as though he hadn’t had a proper meal since he arrived in the institute, having no cooking skills to fall back on, and having no one worrying to leave anything for him. He had to admit he sort of did miss the days when Clary or Jocelyn would leave meals behind for him, if he chose not to want to join them for dinner. They worried about him eating much more than he did, so he never had to think about seeking it. 

Now, it was either scraps, or nothing. But if the food was already made...

From a close distance he heard familiar voices speaking, and clicking of tableware. Jonathan knew he wouldn’t be alone, and that thought alone was enough to put him in a bad mood. 

Once stepping inside, Jonathan saw Jace seated at a spot near the end of the table, eating at a leisure pace what looked to be scrambled eggs and toast. Next to him sat Isabelle, sharing the same meal, with her legs crossed in a casual manner. Alec was nowhere in sight, something Jonathan started to notice happening more and more frequently. Nobody had to tell him he was sneaking off to the house of Magnus Bane, and nobody probably will. The conversation inevitably died out as he stepped in further, Jace giving him a look over. 

“We were hoping you wouldn’t wake up in the near hours.” Jace said, munching absentmindedly on a piece of toast. Isabelle, who before seemed in a lively mood, stayed silent and drank from her coffee cup, giving Jonathan an icy look. 

Jonathan was not surprised to find there was no plate with food on the table for him. And still he found himself asking, “Have you made some for me?” 

Jace outright laughed at the comment. “Why should I make you breakfast? Something happened to your hands?” 

Jonathan felt his fists tighten, and his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. “You know I don’t know how to cook an egg.” 

“Not my problem.” 

Jonathan at this point understood that arguing with Jace would lead him nowhere, and begrudgingly, swallowing his indignation and shame, he passed the dining table, and strode towards where the stove was conveniently stationed. 

On the stove set the frying pan Jace cooked with. Jonathan frowned at it, and opened the fridge, which was surprisingly empty, taking out eggs. He saw Jace do it in the past, how hard could it be?   
The first egg he cracked splattered all over the place. He hit it too hard on the counter, making it crack in his hand. 

Jace was judging him from the dining table, which was, unfortunately for him, in complete view from the kitchen. “You better clean that up,” Jace yelled in his direction. It only furthered Jonathan’s agitation. He was trying very gently to crack the egg on the counter again when the door burst open, and through it stepped Alec. The sudden change in atmosphere made Jonathan slip his fingers, and down went another egg. The rest ignored the mess he made in favor of Alec.

“Hello there, Alexander. I thought that Magnus has stolen you from us for good,” Jace greeted, his smile teasing. “I hope at least he has worried to make you breakfast in bed.”   
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Jace, could you stop taunting him?” 

Jonathan turned his gaze from them, wiping his fingers on a kitchen towel. He took a third egg, and carefully moved it so only a small crack was left. Satisfied, he poured the inside content in a bowl. A few pieces of the eggshell fell in as well, and Jonathan tried to dig it out with a fork. 

“It’s in my nature,” he heard Jace reply to Isabelle from behind him. 

Just hearing his voice made him feel as if he was doing something wrong. Shoving aside the feeling of inadequacy he often felt here, he began mixing the egg, while adding a bit of salt, and pouring it all down on the boiling pan. The gas had been lit for a while now, and the egg already started simmering. He held the pan, silently wishing nothing would set on fire from here on. 

The sizzling noise of the pan was drowned out by conversation of the Lightwood family…and Jace. Jonathan, with nothing better to do, decided to listen. 

"We didn't have time to eat. Magnus is in over his head trying to plan the food arrangements for tonight. Oh! I’ve almost forgotten, Meg is hosting a party,” Alec said, catching the other’s intrigue. Great, finally he could catch a break from them. “He has invited all of you guys.” 

“Wow, that’s wonderful news. It’s been ages since he arranged any sort of celebration.” Isabelle sounded slightly more reminiscent about it than she meant to. “Don’t you miss those parties? Everybody together, having fun-” 

“Yeah about that...” Alec hesitated for a moment. 

The others paused to let Alec finish his sentence, and when he hadn’t, Jace decided to snap him back into it. “About what?” he asked. 

Jonathan saw that the pan was low, so he decided to lift it. 

Alec sighed, and looked away before he spoke. “Okay so you know there are things I don’t want to do. Like, really really don’t want to do. But the law requires us to do, especially since our dad is the Inquisitor, it would not be looked at kindly if we were to disobey him.” 

Isabelle groaned with impatience. “Say it and be done with it.” 

“Jonathan is required to come with us to the party.”

The pan slipped, and almost fell out of Jonathan’s hand. It landed on the counter, clashing and causing other dishes to fall down to the floor. 

Jace didn’t even avert his gaze towards the crash, unlike Isabelle. He kept his gaze on Alec. “What do you mean we are required to take him with us?” 

Alec slid his hand through his hair, looking upwards and then back at Jace. “You heard what dad said. He reminded me of it again today when I mentioned the party. We’re responsible for him; he has to be with us at all times. Leaving him alone while everybody else goes gives him a better chance to escape. Trust me, I don’t like it, I would rather take my chances with a bear in the party than let him roaming around, but we don’t really have a choice.” 

Jonathan wrinkled his nose, standing amid shattered pieces of glass, and looking quite lost with a pan in his hand. 

“In any case, this is how it is.” 

“I don’t agree to it! First he enters and ruins our lives, our families, making us the ones to fight him. And when we do stop him, and restore peace, we’re the ones expected to take all the responsibility and look over him? You know what, Clary can go to hell.” Jonathan turned over to Jace, who turned in return, now addressing him. “I am not helping you with anything ever again, you hear? It was a mistake to defend you, I haven’t had the foggiest idea how much trouble it would cause me later on. It’s not even Alec or Isabelle or hell, not even the damn Inquisitor who is expected to watch over you, it’s me. They think I’ve gone through some close bonding experiences and that means I somehow understand you, can put you in line, but it’s not true. I am the farthest thing from close to you. You are a burden now we have to take care of, because I chose to open my mouth. I should have left you to fend off for yourself in court.” 

Jace stood up in his place, caught up in the heat of the moment. He found himself calmer now, and after looking at Jonathan, then Alec, the Isabelle, he made a decision to leave the room. 

“So much drama,” Isabelle said, leaning the fork and knife on her plate, and taking another sip of coffee. “It’s like his fifth angry speech of the month, who is gonna start counting with me?” Isabelle smiled humorlessly. “But I agree, it was definitely bad judgement on Jace’s part to talk for Clary in court. Now we’re all stuck with babysitting service.” Without saying another word, she too left the room in her usual stride. 

Alec was left standing for a few extra moments, before saying. “They’re right, you know. I agree with them. We will never forgive you. You killed our little brother and for that,” he took a shaky breath, “you can’t really forgive.” 

And before Jonathan could register the prominence of the moment, Alec was gone. 

Jonathan looked at the egg, which was now burnt and filled with shells. He threw it in the trash, wiped away the remaining glass pieces, turned off the light and left the pan on the stove along with the rest to cool. 

It looked like he wouldn’t be eating breakfast today, and in honesty, the hunger had pretty much vanished from him.  
** 

Later that night, Jonathan and the rest were at Magnus' place, wearing something between formal and casual attire. 

Magnus' place was decorated in a large spectrum of colors. Greenery flourished from the windows; thick and intricate vines circled all the way up to the ceiling, and complimented nicely the colorful environment in which the party was set.

Jonathan noticed that in every corner stood a table, upon which were set drinks in varying sizes and textures. Jonathan knew those drinks were certainly off limits for him. Luckily, since he wouldn’t want to accidentally turn himself into a mouse, or find himself hanging midair, frozen in place, unable to move. Upon closer observation, he noticed that every color of every drink shone familiar in his eyes, and he could recall the names of the potions, what they do. The pink one is high in alcohol… he considered whether to ask Jace for permission, but decided against it. 

While crawling further into the building, and closer towards Magnus, alongside Jace, Alec, and Isabelle, Jonathan became more and more aware of the peculiarity of the situation. This was an event of celebration, and Jonathan was not particularly a person to celebrate with. In fact, him leaving would probably be more a cause for celebration. Glancing backwards, all he saw was Jace’s mirthless grin. Jonathan almost forgot, he was his babysitter. Feeling lost about any means of escape, he returned his gaze forward, walking in defeated silence. 

Isabelle and Alec were walking in front of him, ignoring his presence. Isabelle was wearing a long white dress, strutting in distinguished elegance on what looked to be extremely uncomfortable heels. Jonathan didn’t comment on her dress, didn’t dare to point out the way too high heels, or the too tight fitting, the last thing he needed was her taking out her whip and pointing it at him. There were a few times during the stay that she almost did take out a whip on him, but Jace worried for most of his suffering so she didn’t have to. 

“Magnus!” Alec called over to his warlock boyfriend, who smiled back warmly. 

Jonathan never did consolidate a solid opinion about Alec. In honesty, he never had much interaction with the man. The little interaction he did have, Jonathan managed to be absolutely terrible. From the comment about his sexual preference in the City of Glass, to him killing his brother... not something that creates great, close relationships, unfortunately. 

“I’m happy all of you could come,” Magnus said politely, nodding at Isabelle and shaking Jace’s hand. Seeing Jonathan, Magnus became oddly still, being caught off guard. “I don’t recall inviting a killer to my party.” 

Jonathan swallowed his spit, glued to the spot. Why had no one told the host he was going to be present? 

“Can I talk to you over there for a second?” Alec asked, trying to take Magnus’ hand in his. Magnus outright waved it off. In an air of outrage, he followed Alec, who was walking towards a quiet corner, murmuring reassurances in his ear which Jonathan couldn’t pick up. Magnus’ frown didn’t brighten up. 

Isabelle, ignoring the drama, let her hair slide down her shoulders. “Well, Jace, I don’t know about you but I’m going to let myself have a little fun for a change.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “There has yet to be a party where you didn’t have fun, Isabelle. Or come home with a new boyfriend.” 

Isabelle glanced at Jonathan for a second before turning to Jace. “If you have any criticism for me, say it at home. Or not at all. I’m not going to let you ruin my fun just because you can’t have any.” With one last look at the both of them, Isabelle turned her heel and disappeared into the depths of the party, blending in with the crowd. 

Jonathan, feeling stupid for standing in the same spot for the last few minutes, was about to make a step towards a place with little to no people, before something, or more accurately, someone grasped his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“What?” Jonathan blinked in confusion. 

Jace gave him an impatient look. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you loose on your own out here, do you? Oh no. However much I would rather stick my head inside a paper shredder than babysit you, you are going to be following me all evening. Is that clear?” 

Jonathan felt an odd disappointment wash over him when he understood the subtext of those words. He won’t have a moment alone, and he won’t have a moment to enjoy himself.  
He did know he would be closely monitored here, but having no mobility whatsoever? 

When he didn’t answer, Jace tightened his grip on his shoulder. “I said, is that clear?” 

Jonathan glanced at the hand grasping him, and then at Jace. “Let go of my shoulder.”

“Or what?” Jace challenged. 

Jonathan hated that. In the beginning, when he first woke up after Clary stabbed him in the chest with the sword, he felt guilt. He had nightmares and the one thing he wanted to do was to either die, or redeem himself. To start over. He felt that if he was not sentenced to die, all he needed to do was act perfectly well, and soon he would be free of his past, and he would never need to see Jace, or anyone else for that matter, again. For that, he thought hatred and cruelty was a side effect that he naturally needed to accept. 

A month ago, he would say he deserved to be treated like this from Jace, that he had every right. But after rebuilding himself, Jonathan had begun to feel an itching sense of indignation, of wounded pride, and every time Jace added to it - Jonathan felt less willing to please, and more ready to rebel against it all. He was sick of waking up to another day of being watched over and scrutinized. To another day where his actions were being put under a microscope to make sure he doesn’t “lash out”. Once upon a time, he would rather die, than succumb to this form of degradation. True, he no longer felt that way, that overweening sense of pride, but he was tired of this. He just needed a break.

Jonathan felt himself clench his fingers into fists. He could beat Jace. Anger surged through him. He could take him down. He could calculate the intensity needed in a punch to slow him down long enough to make a break for it. Surely he can do that much.

But both he and Jace knew he would not do it. The place was surrounded by enough people that would not hesitate to intervene if they heard a disturbance like that. They already wanted him dead, no need to give them an opening. Jonathan was angry at the moment, not suicidal.

Jace still held his glare, compelling Jonathan to make a move. Jonathan remembered a time when Jace was the closest person to him. The one person who he had put his faith in. The only living creature to exist to actually understand his way of thinking, all those sick and twisted thoughts that lurked within. But of course, that wasn’t real. Even if Jonathan wanted to believe it was, it was not. Even those moments he considered to have a mutual partnership, it was never out of Jace’s free will. 

The worst thing about it all, was that he wanted it. Even now. To be Jace’s friend. To share jokes, and to have meals together without resentment. He found himself shocked that he may even desire it more than an affectionate siblinghood with Clary. 

Jonathan knew that this was not alright, that his thoughts took a bad turn, and he felt his mouth jump in to fill the overwhelming sense of befuddlement. “Nothing. It is perfectly clear. I will stay by your side,” he finally answered. 

Satisfied with his answer, Jace released his hold. 

The rest of the evening went by slower than Jonathan expected. He was standing on the sidelines, while Jace was laughing and drinking with Alec. Jonathan, with nothing better to do, could count the times he had combed his hair back, straightened his shirt or checked a nearby clock, proving how truly bored he was. 

Every time Jonathan turned his back to Jace, he was rewarded with a warning grip on his wrist that clarified how serious Jace was about what he said. 

“I need to search for Mag,” Alex said finally before rising up in pardon from Jace. “He is still upset that I didn’t notify him of the change. I said I’d make it up to him, so now I have to think of something.” Alec sighed, and rubbed his chin in vexation. “Do you have any ideas?” 

Jace put his half empty glass on the table, besides the bewitched beverages. Considering half the evening was already gone, Jonathan was surprised that this was Jace’s first glass of an alcoholic beverage, and what looks like to be the last for the evening. He continued chatting casually with Alec, giving him relationship advice. 

The perfect opportunity to act. If Jonathan would attempt to leave, Jace would immediately notice but what if... 

While Jace was not looking, Jonathan reached over to grab a green-orange potion, nonchalantly toying with the content and immediately identifying the drink. He tried to look as if he was pouring the drink for himself. 

Jace’s eyes were not focused on him, but more on the direction of Alec, so Jonathan knew that he had the chance to succeed. At this position, Jace was close enough to feel him if he chose to turn away from him, but as long as he kept in the same direction, Jace would continue to ignore Jonathan as he did before. He could do it, but only if he acted quickly. 

He knew that if Jace caught him now, he would be stripped of any freedom he had left. This was his only chance. 

Jonathan’s heart hammered inside his chest. He made quick calculations of the potion’s intensity, and how much percentage would be enough to daze but not harm.

Jonathan didn’t want the influence to be too obvious. After all, Jace was a healthy man, who never got ill. If his actions became too animated, someone would notice, and Jonathan’s cover would be blown. He needed to distract Jace, confound him, and blur his senses just enough for him not to notice his absence. 

After running some quick calculations he came to a decision. Two drops, that was the quantity needed. Jonathan opened the bottle, and released two drops into Jace’s drink. If his calculations were correct, the potion should affect him for at least 40 minutes, but not more than an hour. Enough time for him to find an exit, and leave undetected.

Trying to act casual, he started drinking from his own glass, which he poured for himself. It contained beer, and he wasn’t sure if he was his second of third glass. 

A few seconds after Jonathan had poured the potion into Jace’s drink, Alec was leaving, thanking Jace for the advice, but still looking bitter, however a bit heartened. 

Jace turned back to the table, smiling. He raised his glass, and took a gulp. “You see what Alec and I have? That’s friendship. Something that you always wanted to force upon us, but never really happened. Kind of sad to be honest.” 

“You can deny it but somehow, even if not truly, you did enjoy my company. You’re just unable to admit it.” 

“Or maybe it is just what your deformed brain wants to believe is true,” Jace scoffed and took another gulp from his glass. “It will never be true. You hear? We were never friends.” 

For a couple of minutes there was silence. Jace finished his drink with one last gulp, and rested it back down on the table. He tapped lightly on the table, searching across the crowd for someone to talk to. Just a little more... 

Jace contorted his face in pain. 

Bingo. 

The tapping stopped. Jace, suddenly unstable on his feet, put a hand forward to balance himself. His other hand went to his head, as a groan escaped from him. Jonathan could almost feel bad for him. Almost. 

“I-I don’t feel so good all of a sudden,” Jace said, while leaning his weight on the table, with eyes closed tightly shut. “My head is spinning.” 

Jonathan held back the desire to smile. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?” 

“W-what?” he replied, unfocused. 

“I will search for Alec or Isabelle. You need some water, I’m going to go get it for you, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Disoriented, Jace sat down on the ground, his head still held tightly in between his hands. 

Jonathan took a few steps away from Jace, for the first time this evening without being held back. He looked all around him - inspecting to see if Alec, Isabelle or Magnus were anywhere in his line of sight. Once confirming they were not, he made his way straight through the crowd. 

People around him were either busy dancing erratically, or conversing one with the other, so they didn’t notice his presence. The lights were dim, and the music was loud, and there were lights flashing on and off, on and off, changing from purple to red, to blue to yellow, to blinding white. He ignored it all, the laughter and the music, and the lights, and just headed straight to the nearest door; opening it and shutting it closed as quickly as possible, leaving the party behind him. 

Free. Free at last. 

He could distance himself from this place far enough that Jace would not be able to find him. He would have one night of freedom outside, with fresh air, with no one breathing down his neck, waiting for him to mess up. No glares, or condescending remarks, or feeling crappy. 

Just... one night. He knew he couldn’t allow himself too much. Valentine had secret hideouts, ones that would be extremely difficult to locate, and would definitely buy him much more time... but Jonathan didn’t want that. He knew that if he fled from the Clave, it would be his end. If he ran away, and they would eventually find him, the path to death would be a short one. It wouldn’t be difficult to label him a traitor, and sentence him to hang on his past crimes. There weren’t second chances here. 

No, he would not try to run away. He simply wanted one night of freedom. One night to clear his head, so when he returns, he might be able to endure what’s waiting. 

“Free at last,” he breathed out to the air, a smile creeping to his lips. For the first time in weeks, he felt unrestrained, he felt liberated. He felt something akin to happiness.

And with that feeling he walked away, and disappeared into the shadows of the streets. 

Jonathan wandered a few streets in search of a bar. Although he already drank more alcohol than he originally intended, and was feeling the effect of it pervade his mind, he knew it wasn’t enough. He felt his body’s tensions dissipate, and his balance waver, but he wanted more. He wanted to numb the anxiety of disobeying Jace, and to sink into peaceful ignorance; not thinking about what his next move might be.

Amidst his walk, Jonathan’s gaze focused as he spotted a place which resembled a bar. Inside Jonathan saw plenty of people, sitting and conversing. Glancing through the window, he noticed that the counter was almost completely vacated, leaving him room to sit down in comfort. 

Satisfied with his find, Jonathan fixed his hair the tiniest bit, and opened the glass door, entering in what he hoped was an unobtrusive manner. He immediately regretted it.

Once inside, Jonathan took a proper look around. And the moment he did, an unpleasant chill crept down his spine. With sickening certainty it suddenly hit him where he was, and who were the company surrounding him. 

Werewolves. He didn’t think that their bar, The Hunter’s Moon, was so close by. For one second, he didn’t think of the upcoming danger, his thoughts were so muddled.  
Jonathan turned around so that his backside was facing the werewolves, and his face out of sight. If they didn’t notice him yet.... 

He cracked the door open ever so slightly, a cold breeze washing over his face. 

A split of a second later, the door was shut closed with a resonating thud; a werewolf standing on the other side of it, smiling. “Where do you think you’re going, Sebastian?” 

The only coherent thought that passed through Jonathan’s mind at the moment was fuck. Throughout the past month, Jonathan had suffered many nightmares; every night when he shut his eyes, a different one played out. 

One night he dreamt of a situation like this - him standing helpless and vulnerable, with werewolves snaring their teeth at every corner, in a city he didn’t recognize. He was trying to fight them off, but they were too many in number, stronger than him, overpowering him. In the nightmare, you could see the illuminated surface of the moon, becoming a full circle. Jonathan recalled their hands turning to paws, grasping his skin, cutting it, and then came the biting; his screams ignored as he was devoured alive. 

This situation was not much better. It wasn’t only about losing his free night, there was a chance he was about to lose his life. 

“Look who showed up here,” said that same werewolf who was blocking his way, looking ominously familiar to the one in Jonathan’s nightmare. They both had scratchy beards and dark, sunken eyes. “It’s our favorite guy. You were big talk during the war Sebastian, I’ll give you that.” 

At that statement, half the werewolves in the bar stood from their seats, creating a circle around Jonathan. The other half looked as though they were unsure what they should do; and contented themselves with watching.

“Interesting for you to know, Luke told us about your verdict.” Jonathan could distinctly identify the stink of alcohol in the werewolf’s breath when he spoke, especially since he didn’t keep much distance. His figure was hovering over him, in a proximity that was way past safe, and made Jonathan nervous. “Luke also mentioned to us that you are not under the protection of The Order, isn’t that correct? Which means if we hurt you, we would not be in violation of our agreements with the shadowhunters. Also interesting.” 

The smile on the werewolf’s face became a tad darker, and he took another sip of alcohol from his cup before setting it down and saying, “So fellas, shall we begin?” 

It didn’t take any more invitation to get them started. The first few punches Jonathan was able to avoid, instinctively moving backwards as the werewolves were advancing on him. At some point, Jonathan found himself with his back against the wall, another punch heading towards him. He ducked, making the fist of his attacker collide against the wall, penetrating it from the force and leaving behind a fist sized hole. 

A deep growl resounded from the werewolf, giving Jonathan enough room to escape towards a table with a few more werewolves on his tail. Desperate, he picked up a chair, and used it as protection, as they clawed through it, gaining access to attack his arms. Jonathan held back a groan as a deep scratch cut his upper arm, blood dripping, and more attackers piled around to seize their hold on him.   
Jonathan reasoned that if he held them back long enough, Luke would come and help him. 

Considering he will even agree to help you, a voice whispered in his head. Considering he won’t join and cheer them on. 

There were too many on him, one more minute, and they could knock him off his feet and finish him. Jonathan began to panic. The chair almost fell apart in his hands. Before he abandoned it, he swung it as hard as he could on an unsuspecting werewolf’s head. The impact caused him to collapse, spurring a few seconds of confusion, which Jonathan used to climb on top of a table and further away from the danger. 

Standing on the table, breathing heavy, Jonathan began to feel the effect of the alcohol intensifying, flowing faster through his bloodstream, and making his actions sloppy. He bent down and picked up a few glasses, almost losing his balance and falling off the table in the process. He threw it at whoever got close, the glass shattering and causing a few to bleed. 

They were getting angrier. Jonathan’s heart rate sped up, and his hands started to shake. There were no more glasses and no more chairs near him, and he had nowhere to jump. Suddenly he felt himself lose balance, and he fell to the ground. Black dots appeared in his peripheral vision, and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Wincing in pain, he was picked up by something, or someone. His vision cleared, and he was thrown again off his feet by a punch to his gut. Another one to his chin, and he felt his back come in contact with the wall. 

He was out of breath, out of energy, drunk and unbalanced. Down his back he felt blood oozing, and he could no longer feel his feet. The situation was bad, even for him.   
The world slowed down to background noise, and blurry vision. 

Jonathan was unaware of what was happening around him, only that he suddenly felt an absence of pain. Either he was finished, and truly edging off the brim of consciousness, or the werewolves have backed away. 

The next thing he knew, a strong arm was lifting him up, and balancing him, most of his weight resting on said person’s chest. Words were being exchanged, there was some sort of argument going on, but Jonathan was having a hard time focusing on anything. 

In the confusion, he felt himself being dragged away from the bar, and set on some sidewalk a few minutes later. Dizzy, he let his head spin as he felt a wave of nausea searing its way up his throat, threatening to come out. Keeping it down, and having it climb up again, he finally allowed himself to let it out, uncaring of how nasty it might be. He hadn’t felt this bad since the rehabilitation program. 

His muscles were stiff, dried blood covered his back, his shirt was soaked in cold sweat, and a migraine hit him hard as soon as he sat down. 

Jonathan didn’t realize how much energy he put into defending himself until the adrenaline wore off, and he felt the fatigue spread throughout his entire body. He didn’t know what he desperately needed more- a bed or a shower. 

After throwing his guts out, he felt less intoxicated, and his vision focused on the person sitting crouched in front of him. Great. Jace. Jace, who previously looked something akin to relived, now bore a look of concentrated anger.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing??” 

Jonathan wiped a line of spit from his mouth, groaning in pain. He evened out his breathing before he spoke. “None of your business.” 

Jace was now sitting face to face with Jonathan, his fist curling up in his shirt. There was a glint in his eyes that told Jonathan that if he did not watch what he says, he might get hurt worse. 

“Then make it my business. I was just... a bit out of it, and you thought that gave you the right to run out??” 

“I...” Jonathan couldn’t get the words out before he felt a painful churn in his stomach, quickly followed by him coughing up blood. 

Jace’s features softened when he realized Jonathan was in need of immediate medical attention. His brows furrowed, and he bit his lip thoughtfully before deciding on his next course of action. “Come on, hold onto me. I’m going to get you back to the Institute.”


	7. Chapter 7

On their way out of the alleyway and into the roads Jonathan found himself many times shutting his eyes. The pain quickly became blinding and trying to keep up with Jace, who was still balancing him awkwardly and walking alongside him in long strides, was proving to be more difficult than he had previously thought. His legs functionality lessened to a point of stopping altogether. He heard Jace murmuring something under his breath, probably curses aimed at him. Jonathan found that he did not care as he let his head loll to the side and his body slack under Jace’s. He was nearing the state of drowsiness where he was only barely conscious. And then, he simply saw black. 

The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a closed room. He felt the visible sting in his abdomen, now properly disinfected and bandaged. His head hurt badly, and he had only a vague recollection of what happened last night. Hungover and badly hurt, Jonathan was too tired to move. That’s when he realized he had no idea where he was. He felt the presence of others in the room, the clear voices of argument. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he closed his eyes back again and feigned unconsciousness. Being truly tired, it wasn’t that difficult, and the comforter below him lulled him to quiet rest, if not quite sleep. 

“You should have kept better watch on him.” Alec’s voice filled the room in its familiar hardness. It wasn’t the first time they had gotten into a fight over him. Jonathan could only imagine what Alec’s reaction was when Jace brought him over bloody and beaten after having snuck out. Alec likely suggested leaving him out on the streets to die. 

The healing charms that bound his body were proof that Jace did not yield to that very tempting suggestion. 

“Oh so now it’s my fault? I recall I wasn’t the only one in that party.” Jace’s voice was upset, but it didn’t hold any of its usual vigor. He almost sounded resigned. It left Jonathan wondering what time it was. It couldn’t possibly be morning, could it? It was likely that Jace didn’t catch an ounce of sleep. 

“You’re the one who went to his rescue!” Alec continued. “It was his own damn fault he got mixed up with those werewolves, you didn’t have to go out and intervene.”

“I was thinking of Clary, okay? She would have never forgiven me.” The sound of pacing was heard, followed by an intense moment of silence. “How much longer can you keep holding this over my head? You would have done the same for Magnus, if he loved Jonathan as much as Clary does.” The last part he said somewhat bitterly. Loving Clary was such a burden when her brother came in as a package deal. 

“Don’t you bring Magnus into this. At least he has better taste in men than your sister does in brothers. You don’t even realize how stupid you were acting. You just wait until dad hears about it-”

“You’re going to tell him?” Jace interrupted, sounding panicked, even slightly hurt. “Please don’t.”

“I knew you were going to ask this,” he shook his head, incredulous.

“He’s going to kill me if he finds out, you know that. Alec please, you know I never beg.” 

“Not that your conversations aren’t fascinating, but are you willing to quiet down for a few minutes? Your constant bickering is giving me a headache. You too Alexander.” 

Jonathan felt Magnus facing his direction, inspecting his injuries. When he was close enough that he could hear the murmuring of his spells, Jonathan tensed. Magnus stopped in his tracks, radiating suspicion. The warlock sensed he was awake, but Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. There was that very real issue of him sneaking away, and he was sure that once he opened his eyes, he would be cuffed and strapped to the bed to avoid any further problems. And liberty came so rarely to him. 

Before Magnus could act on his suspicion, and start interrogating Jonathan for eavesdropping, they all heard a knock on the door. They exchanged glances with one another, Alec and Jace took one step away from the door, unsure of what to do. Magnus rolled his eyes, and took a look through the peephole, only to open the door straight away to welcome a very sober looking Robert. Jace immediately made eye contact with Alec, having him promise with his eyes that he won’t breathe a word, and instead let him talk. Resigned, Alec gave a curt nod in his direction, and took a seat on the couch, acting the casual visitor. 

Robert’s eyes naturally zoomed in to focus on Jonathan’s sprawled out figure on the couch, one eyebrow quirked in question. Then his eyes furrowed in a show of very perplexed emotions, closing the door behind him. He paced the flat, taking in the curious image in front of him, the obvious question laid out unspoken. Nobody began a conversation, nobody tried smalltalk.

Instead of asking outfront, Robert decided to start out with a story. 

“Tonight has been a very interesting night indeed. A shadowhunter had started his day like the rest of us, celebrating the new peace and safety of the post war. Safety the order promised to provide, peace I myself guaranteed to maintain… but I digress.  
This shadowhunter and his wife went to a party of celebration tonight, I’m sure you guys are familiar with it, I even heard Isabelle was having a fantastic time." Alec had a look of recollection, and he grimaced as he remembered Isabelle's bold dancing. "However, a certain figure disappeared halfway through the party. Why should this concern the shadowhunter, you ask? It’s a question that has been troubling us these past hours. This man and his wife left early. They have a young daughter waiting at home, and they excused themselves at around 22:00 o’clock. The young couple went through a shortcut, one they have taken often, in a merry and slightly drunken mood from the party. They did not reach home that day."

There was a prominent silence. Alec and Jace traded concerned looks, but still, did not add any information. 

Seeing no one was stepping in, Robert continued. "The name of this man is Eliot Anderson, and his wife’s name is Helena. On his way back home from the party he was murdered. Eliot was a skilled fighter, and he put up a fight. His wife, who managed to flee unharmed, claimed the attacker had gotten away injured and her husband was dead. Through the tears, and in her panic, she said all she could remember was white hair. The attacker was hidden by shadows, and it was too dark to tell anything else.” 

Glancing at Jonathan’s bandaged body, and old scars, he lowered his tone a notch, enough to let them know the seriousness of this crime. Enough to make Jonathan shiver through closed lids, and Jace heart to pace faster. “Now, before I can arrest the criminal on the sofa, does he have anything to say in his defense?” 

At this point, no one actually paid any attention to Jonathan, being so focused on Robert. Jonathan, perspiration in his brow, opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He sat up on the couch, and had a hard time finding his voice. When he did, it was dry. He had not drunk anything in a while, and his throat was scratchy. He recognized the place around him as the same place where the party was thrown, Magnus’ house. 

“I deny these accusations,” he said shortly with confidence he did not have in his tone. 

Robert stood in his spot. He mistrusted the accused, but that was to be expected. He stared at all the rest, waiting to hear someone speak to their own defense. All of them were missing at some point of the party, and now standing with the accused, none of them were free of the blame. “Alec?” Robert asked with authority of a father and an inquisitor. “Do you want to tell me something?” 

The thought ran through all standing in the room, except Robert himself. Jonathan was innocent. Alec had no emotion written on his face, and he eyed Jace who stood behind his father giving him pleading looks. Alec choose his words carefully. “Magnus and I were at his house this entire time. Then we went up to his room to... uh, talk. We have not heard anything of a crime. Maybe we were just a bit distracted.” Trying to smooth the awkwardness of what was just implied, he continued tersely. "I am truly sorry for Helena's loss. Where did you say the murder took place?” 

“Near Saint Paul’s church, at least a few miles north of Magnus’s house.” 

“At what time?” 

“According to the wife, 10:25 pm. Alec, is any of this necessary in order for you to tell me what I want to hear?” 

“I can't really tell you much of anything, given I don't know much.” 

When Alec made no move to give any further information about the presence of Jonathan his father’s frown deepened. “Very well, I see how it is.” Robert turned to Jace, still the authority figure. “Jace, he was under your care. Pray tell me what is he doing here, bandaged and in a bad shape, after such an event took place. Were you not looking after him?” 

“Jace,” Jonathan redirected his attention to him. “You know it couldn’t possibly have been me. You all know. Please tell him the truth.” 

Jace began to juggle his options in his mind. Robert was openly glaring at him, Alec was staring at the ground, and Magnus was leaning against the doorframe of his house, listening intently to what was going on. At one point, before the revelation of a murder, Jace believed the story he would tell Robert would be different; he and Jonathan retired early and got into an argument. In that scenario Jace had gotten so angry at Jonathan that he beat him up, and scared of what anybody would think of his lack of self control, dragged his bruised body back to Magnus’ house, to heal him. No one would have questioned such an event under normal circumstances, and he would not be in any sort of real trouble, but now...? He could either testify under the sword and tell the truth, vouch for Jonathan’s innocence, or refuse to give witness. If he refused to be tested under the sword, he could say that Jonathan slipped out of his reach in the middle of the party. Sensing him gone, he went searching for him, and found him on a street near Saint Paul’s church, bloody and washed up. Jace, thinking nothing of him committing such a crime, sent him to Magnus, to heal him up. This testimony would send Jonathan straight to jail, ready for execution, the former, would clear his name. 

Both of these options would cause him a great deal of trouble, having it revealed he had not watched Jonathan carefully enough. But would Jace want Robert to think his carelessness was a cause to a murder, or a brawl in a werewolf bar? 

“Jonathan is telling the truth. It couldn’t possibly have been him who murdered that man.”

A humorless laugh escaped the inquisitor's mouth, and no longer able to stand still, he took a sit on one of the cushions on the sofa. He motioned Magnus with his hand to get him a drink of water, and rubbed his temples to rid himself of the upcoming headache. “I’m sorry, in all possibilities the last thing I expected was for you to say those words.” After the initial shock wore off, his face grew serious once more. “I am listening Jace, and know that aiding Jonathan if he is indeed guilty will be a serious offense. Even if you are uncertain, the best option is to not say anything. He has much reason to feel hatred towards us, and could be in all likeliness trying to fool you.” 

“There’s no uncertainty about it, Inquisitor. I could tell you that he is guilty. Yeah, it would cause me much grief, since I was the one put in charge of him. Therefore I see why you are weary; you think I am covering up for him. But if you want me to be honest, Jonathan did escape during the party, and I went after him. I knew where he would go, I knew he would search for a place to let loose. He wasn’t going to escape. He had nowhere to go. Tracking him would be too easy, and he was too drunk to make an escape plan. So I went in search for bars. 

When I found him, he was in the other end of town, far away from the location of the murder. He was in a werewolf bar, The Hunter’s Moon. With the assistance of Luke, I got him out of there. You know what the werewolves think about him, Robert, and the fight was brutal, it left him wholly unable to take care of himself; so I brought him to Magnus. During the time of the murder, 22:30 you said it?- he was with me. I had kept an eye on him all night, making sure he does not move even an inch." Sighing, he added. "This, I am willing to attest under the scrutiny of the sword.” 

Robert held eye contact with Jace for only the barest of seconds, before taking the glass of water from Magnus’ hand, drinking it politely, and moving to the door. “So be it,” he said, dismissing the notion of the man’s innocence in a flippant tone. “I will arrange for a trial immediately. Show up at your earliest convenience. Or better yet, stay until you’re instructed otherwise. I will announce that your watch, and contact, with Jonathan will come to a complete halt.” 

Once Robert was gone, Jace began to register what had just happened. The thought of a sword trial sent a wave of anxiety through him, and the thought of doing it for Jonathan was even worse. Jace would have to admit, in front of the entire courtroom, his friends and family, that a known killer had escaped and could have caused harm to civilians, maybe even escaped for good, because he was too drunk to notice. Although, the oddity of his state struck him, since he did not recall drinking more than a few glasses. It didn’t matter now, since after agreeing, there was no way he could go back on his word. 

So preoccupied in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Alec and Magnus cast him worried glances, and Jonathan getting up from the comforter. They were all waiting for him to make the first move.   
“You’re lucky you’re actually innocent,” he finally said. At this comment he saw Jonathan struggle to conceal a grin, which was quickly wiped off when Jace returned it with an ice cold glare. More the odd was when the former decided to make his way, lay a hand on the side of Jace’s shoulder, and thank him. Jace didn’t respond, but acknowledged the gesture with a nod. The anger subsided, and he felt a dull ache in its place, a mixture of resentment and an inquisitive wonder of what is going to happen next. 

So like that they waited, talking little, and doing even less. Magnus offered to make some 3 am dinner, and their dinner, which consisted of fried eggs and sausage bites, was also eaten in silence. It was tranquil, for a while, and the pleasantness soon faded away when Robert inevitably returned, with company. 

It was the morning after, and most everybody fell asleep. Magnus and Alec were sleeping in Magnus’s room and Jonathan got the spare room, sleeping on a run down mattress on the floor while Jace tumbled over in the queen sized bed. It was barely the crack of dawn before they were rudely woken up to raucous knocks, followed almost immediately by the breaking of the door, and screeching footsteps up the stairs. Before Jonathan knew what was happening, shadowhunters barged into the room, and grasped him by his arms, pushing him violently to stand upright. In the back stood Robert, looking tired and worn out, but gravely serious. 

“We ran further investigations. There had not been any others traces of evidence that will help us discharge you, no fingerprints, no blood samples. You are currently the only suspect. Jonathan, I would like you to stand trial by sword now.” 

Jonathan was furious. He was being incriminated for someone else’s crimes, and for the first time since his first trial, he was completely innocent. There was a murderer out there that would get out free because he was simply the easiest person to throw in jail. He was the easiest person to put on trial, and what rifled him more, was that the order would no doubt be relieved that they found a reason to get rid of him, and the threat he poses. The justice system, in a word, was simply being lazy. Those thoughts were what led him to say a sentence that he knew would not help him the slightest bit. “It isn’t my fault that the order doesn’t know how to do its job.” 

Robert fixed him a cold glare, but didn’t dignify him with a response. “Put your hands forward.”

Jonathan didn’t reprimand the order, didn’t say any more damning accusations; he complied, a snarl hidden behind clenched teeth. The last time he held out his hands, it ended him with a scratch from the sword. This time however, it wasn’t the case. Robert drew out his stele, and after a quick sketch, shackles made of fire encircled his wrists, bounding him in place.   
“Just in case you get any bright ideas. One sharp movement, and I promise you you will feel the consequence of disobedience.” 

After being dragged by the guards all the way to the institute, followed by Jace and the rest right on his heel, they made it into a desolate place to hold the trial. Jonathan was surprised by the private manner of this sentence, but then it made sense. They couldn’t conduct a full order and crowd on such short notice, and Robert was desperate to catch the culprit before panic ensued amongst his people.   
The shadowhunters that have dragged him along let go of him suddenly, making Jonathan almost trip and burn his entire left arm off in the process. Luckily, he caught his footing, and stood glued to the spot, breathing heavily. The flames flared high from the handcuffs, their light reflecting in his eyes, until they slowly settled down, moving in rhythmic, non dangerous stirrings in response to Jonathan’s immobility. The defendant's eyes shifted to settle on the sword, held in an upright position, which Jonathan came to know better and better nowadays. 

"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, this is your second and final trial. There will be no other chances, and no Clary jumping to your rescue. If indeed you are found guilty, you'll be sentenced to death. Now, even if by sword you claim your innocence, you must be sure that it is not enough. We'll have to run further examinations to make sure there was no way you wielded dark forces to jeopardize the artifact. You may now proceed. Did you murder the man Eliot Anderson?

Jonathan cleared his throat, and held the sword with confidence. "I have not." 

"Tell me what were you doing outside of the party?" 

"I was... trying to escape." Jonathan gasped at the sudden lurch of pain he felt at the sword's power. "But only for a short time, to have a bit of freedom from Jace. I was going to return." 

“So it was Jace who wasn’t doing his job properly?” 

Jace averted his gaze to the floor, staring at his feet. He could hear the disappointment in the inquisitor’s voice, and knew that others were thinking the same. 

He was stressed that if Jonathan got convicted, he might find some jail time as well. 

“He... he was doing his job properly.” Jonathan did not mean to say what he just had. It was the sword’s effect, the secrets you would like to keep most are the ones that are set free the quickest. He could only imagine how Jace would react to Jonathan having drugged him. In a wave of panic, he tried to focus hard enough not to say anything until Robert asked the next question. 

He might have even succeeded had Robert not pressed the matter further. “And why is that?” 

Jonathan shook his head ‘no’ without speaking a word. He knew the moment his mouth would open, it would say on its own accord exactly what was on his mind. He wasn’t quite ready to deal with the implications. Facing the Order’s wrath felt safer than dealing with Jace, and it was not as if the Order was in the most merciful of moods right of now.

Robert fixed him a glare made of ice. “Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, if you do not answer my questions I will have no choice but to believe the murders are caused by your hand, and by the angel, I promise from here your path to purgatory will be a short one.” 

Jonathan could feel the piercing daggers of the sword. It railed all the way up from his spine to his mouth, until it became unbearable and he had to open up to speak. “I didn’t mean anything of it. I just couldn’t deal with Jace’s arguments, and I didn’t want to sit in a room of people who clearly didn’t like me. It was supposed to be one evening, to catch some sanity so I could return more patient. Really, it was supposed to be a positive outcome for everyone.”

“Stop avoiding the question, and answer me clearly.” 

“Jace was next to me the entire evening. He didn’t let me out of arm’s range. I knew the slightest movement would be felt by him, so when he was talking to Alec, I poured a few droplets of potion in his drink. And... it worked. It drugged him, and then he felt dizzy. I didn’t stick around to see what happened to him, but he was pretty delusional. He most likely didn’t notice anything about his surroundings for what I calculated to be at least 30 minutes. So... I went out.” 

No one commented when he finished speaking. Jonathan dared to glance over at Jace, and noticed that his eyebrows were knitted, shaping the outline of a frown. There was something unrecognizable in the way he held himself, the way his chest heaved in anger. It probably meant it was a side of him he will soon get to know, but wish he never did. Splendid.

It was stupid to think he could run away from Jace. As if he ever really did. Jace haunted him as much as he haunted Jace. But Jace wasn’t the reason he was here on trial. His own actions led him here. It started with his father, it continued to Sebastian, and that caused a chain reaction to everything bad happening in his life. Were it not for Sebastian, the werewolves would have not attacked him. Were it not for his father, he wouldn’t be standing trial for a murder he didn’t commit, being the most wanted criminal in shadowhunter existence. Valentine was dead, but he had a great time fucking with him from beyond the grave. 

If it were different, if it were Clary with the demon blood and him with the angel grace, would this have played out the same? Would she have made the same choices as him?   
Probably not. 

And now he chose to drug Jace in order to have a few minutes alone, ultimately ending in disaster for both of them. 

“The consequences of the crime you confessed to will be decided at a later date, but rest assured- there will be consequences.” Jonathan nodded his understanding. He felt the pain of the cuffs, the heat spreading from his fidgeting, and the surge of power from the sword. Combined, they left him lightheaded and sweaty. “I will ask again, are you the killer of Eliot Anderston?” 

“No, I am not.” 

“Are you in any way related to the murder? Did you assist in its planning, heard of it, or have partaken in the act?” 

Jonathan shook his head no. “I have no relation to the murder or its planning and in fact, tonight was the first time hearing this shadowhunter's name. I have no ill will towards him. I do not know anyone who would, either.”

“This is all good and well,” Robert remarked, turning his back to the prosecuted, and waving at his guards a dismissive gesture. “We will continue in our interrogations. See if another suspect pops up, and check for any dark forces that could be at play with the sword. For now, take the prisoner to his room.” 

Jonathan released his grip from the sword, but the sense of relief that he expected, did not come. The cuffs hurt him enough for him not to notice the difference, and the outcome of the trial itself didn’t brighten up his spirits as it should have. 

The guards kept a tight grip on his wrist, and he made no move to resist. The entire way back to the institute, he knew he made a big error in judgement. What did he think to himself? That no one would ask questions? He will suffer for that mistake, one way or the other. Jace will be insufferable, the guards will double their patrol, he will never be trusted again...

In honesty, what bothered him the most was Jace. He might have not been close to him before (understatement of the century) but at least there was a hint of trust. That tiny shred, wherever it lurked, was well destroyed by now. Given another chance, he would not save him from werewolves. 

“Hey, demonboy, we’re here.” 

The guard didn’t bother being gentle, and threw him at the second guard, causing the handcuffs to rub against his arm. Jonathan stifled a scream, as he felt his skin being scorched, and a burn marking its place. “Oops. Sorry. I’m not so focused on one hour of sleep. Some of us were busy investigating certain matters all night. I’m not a judge, but I don’t think we need a sword to know you had something to do with it. It all just seems to convenient, werewolf bar and all, and danger always connects to you, demon.” 

Jonathan was too occupied with the stinging of his flesh to concentrate on what the guards were saying. He didn’t need to listen to know they were accusing him of the murder. He didn’t need the ability to read minds to know that’s what everybody else thinks as well. 

The guards said a word or two, that included an oath to an angel, and the door of the institute opened in response. They pushed the prisoner inside, and Jonathan managed to carry himself well enough not to get another burn. 

“Put your hands forward.” He answered their command. They removed the stele, scrawled something unintelligible and the cuffs disappeared. The marks beneath it, however, were red and blistering, and it felt as though he had just been fried. 

“Make sure he doesn’t leave this place. Robert will arrive in about an hour, along with your siblings.” Jonathan raised his head to find the guards talking with Jace near the entrance. “Don’t drink or eat anything when you’re close to him. If he gets any funny ideas, you know how to handle him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know exactly how.”

“You have the Order’s sincerest apologies. Robert is going to find a solution where you won’t have to look after him anymore. He thanks you for enduring the agitation it must have caused you.”   
He nodded gravely, and locked the door as the guards left, after promising once again he knows how to take care of himself. Jace considered whether to ignore Jonathan’s presence completely, or tell him exactly what’s on his mind. He struggled for a minute to find a proper wording, one befitting the strange emotions he felt at the moment. 

“You know how bad I felt with myself for thinking I got drunk? No, really, try to imagine this in your small, self-centered mind. An hour I was searching for you, an hour which half of it, I was out of my fucking mind from the potion you gave me. 30 minutes? The after effects lasted twice as much. You are currently a danger and under probation for acts you yourself know can’t go unpunished, and if anyone got hurt, it was on me. If you got hurt, it was on me. And I feel so fucking stupid, because for a few moments, I was something akin to worried.” Jonathan knew what was going to come next, the whole sentence smelled of a but. “I have no idea why, it passed as quickly as it came, but the fact that I didn’t want to see you hurt... it is unimaginable after everything you’ve done to me. I guess I wanted to believe there was a chance, but then you go and drug me. And let me cover for you. I am glad I will never have to keep watch on you again." 

Jonathan smiled despite himself. He watched Jace’s anger, and felt brightened. The fact that he was this affected meant he cared, it meant that he wasn’t indifferent to him. Someone wasn’t indifferent towards him, didn’t feel only just disgust towards him. He felt a noticeable ease at this revelation. “You don’t really believe that. I thought you did up till now... but now, I realize you don’t.”   
“Hey that’s not what I said-” 

“No, this is great. From now on I’ll be good, I swear. You will see I am capable of good, even if it takes me a long time to prove it.” 

Jace wanted to retort and crush Jonathan’s positivity, to tell him that he is never going to trust him again, and that there’s only wickedness in him as far as he’s concerned. But being angry all the time was exhausting him, and if this might keep Jonathan on good behavior in the little time they had left, well, he can let him have this one. He didn’t want another drugging incident, or an escape attempt. Jace was probably already viewed as inept by Robert, and he wanted to prove that he was more than capable to watch over one washed up shadowhunter, even if it was in this case a very dangerous one.  
Also, he did believe in his innocence, which irked him. 

So all the terrible things he planned on saying dissipated in his mouth, and he just gave a groan, and a noncommittal shrug.

“Just stop doing stupid things.” 

“You have my word.” 

Jace gave a snort, and smiled bitterly. “Like that’s worth much.” 

Jonathan sat down on the couch and Jace sat besides him, waiting for Robert to make his appearance. 

“So, what do you think will happen to me now?”

Jace saw Jonathan was feeling particularly chatty, and berated himself for letting him believe they were okay, when really, they weren’t. Now he would want to converse with him, great. Choking down an insult, he decided to humor him, having nothing better to do anyhow. He only hoped this would truly be the last time he saw him.

“If they don’t find another suspect, I think they would put you back into jail, if only to satisfy the frightened public. If they do... well, you might get transferred to another institute, or kept here to complete your rehabilitation program. Either way, you don’t get out cheap out of this, since you did try to escape. I have to wonder, during your short escapade, did you actually entertain the thought of leaving for good?” 

“For good?” Jonathan tried to remember the hazy details of last night. Did he at some point think he could get away with running away forever? “I did, maybe for a second. But where would I go? They would have found me in the end. They already branded and marked me, a simple tracking rune would have led them straight to me. My abilities aren’t what they once were... Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done if I did manage to escape. Pottery, perhaps?” 

It was a weak attempt at a joke, but it did draw out a small chuckle from Jace. It was as freeing as the crisp, night air he felt last night when he escaped. 

“You know, I never really considered you having hobbies before. Always thought you kicked puppies during your spare time, or went around stealing candy from babies. Do you have anything else you’re good at?” 

“I can’t be sure. Father- I mean, Valentine, taught me only skills that may be useful for a soldier. I do have a fondness for Shakespeare, I know you do too. I do often wonder how I would have turned out if he didn’t raise me. Maybe I would have picked up drawing like Clary, who knows? Even now, it’s hard to develop my own personality. Everything I’ve been taught in my childhood stands against it.” 

Jace sighed, and shook his head from thoughts of young Jonathan sitting down on a woolen carpet besides Clary, coloring. This made him all too human, all too deserving of sympathy. Who knew better than himself the torment of Valentine? “I know he was harsh-” 

“Harsh? Everything I ever did was to earn his love. But he didn’t love me, he loved you.” 

“Look how well it turned out for the both of us.” 

Jonathan was filled with bitter reminiscence, the childhood he lost like a phantom, and the cold whip on his back sharp in his mind. 

This will show you the perils of disobedience.

They didn’t say anything else to one another. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard in the room. 

Then Robert showed up. 

Jace stood upright straight away, but not fast enough for Robert to not notice the position he was in beforehand. Since when did sitting beside a person become criminal? Yet it felt so.  
"I see that you are treated more kindly than I would have expected, Jonathan." He tipped his head up to stare at Jace. "The fact that he has drugged you, recently ran away, and is a former suspect for murder doesn't bother you anymore, I presume?" 

Jonathan's attention was peaked, and he almost tripped in his haste off the couch. "What do you mean by former suspect?" 

"It means," and he looked sad to say so, "that we found your blood at the werewolf bar. The sword has been checked and come out clear for any tempering. You story aligns, and there is no longer any evidence to convict you with. Now-" 

Before he could tell that they came with no other suspects or clues as to who the murderer could be, the door swung open in urgency and in came a shadowhunter in official looking uniform. 

"I am sorry to interrupt sir. We have been informed of another murder happening 10 miles off the coast of Brooklyn. It was a shadowhunter family from our institute who were out on vacation." 

Robert immediately turned his head to look at Jonathan, to make sure his physical form was still present in this room. It was, and next to him an equally surprised Jace.

There was no more mistaking it anymore, there was a person out there targeting shadowhunters, and that person was not Jonathan.


	8. Chapter 8

Robert had a lot of work to do in a very short amount of time. Two murders were on his head, with little to no clues as to who the person responsible might be. It was no longer a singular attack, now they were forced to look at it as a public threat. If he didn’t find answers soon enough, he would have to issue a public announcement to every shadowhunter in the area and warn them about the danger. So, quick as a fly, Robert got the best investigators to work on unraveling the mystery.

The results have shown that both murders were alike, and likely have been committed by the same person. The crimes were conspired at dark, unused alleyways, and the method of attack had no use of magic - rather, it had been the slitting of the throat. The backgrounds of the couple and the family showed that none had any violent history, or known enemies, but had been part in the war. Not anyone of high position or rank, however.

That’s all the information they managed to find in few days' time. Robert was not so pleased with the progress. Meanwhile, Jonathan had been relocated, and so he was separated from Jace, and kept in constant patrol of guards. Jace thought it was the last they were going to see one another, and for the sake of finality, even said a short goodbye with a civil handshake. Clary, however, still went to visit him whenever she had the chance. She talked about idle things, never mentioning his situation, and he truly did appreciate her company and the frequent calls from Jocelyn as well.  
Not long passed in such a nature before Jace and Jonathan were reunited again, both summoned to the same council meeting.

They met one another at the entrance to Robert’s spacious office in the Institute, a place the inquisitor now saw more frequently than ever. It seemed as if the entire Order had been living in New York ever since Jonathan and the murders were tied in with the place. That theory was proved correct when they entered through the door and saw Robert surrounded by many order officials - including the Consul Jia Penhallow and other delegates which Jonathan wasn’t familiar with. 

Robert stood leaning against a desk, his back to them, with arms crossed, and one hand rubbing his chin. He looked to be deep in thought. The members of the meeting were murmuring amongst themselves. There was a general air of disagreement, one that quieted down as Jace and Jonathan entered.

“You have need of us?” Jace inquired politely, giving a nod of respect to Jia Penhallow, who regarded him stiffly back.

“I’m sorry to have called on you at such a short notice. There is something you need to see- a video that has arrived today.”

Jace gave a look of confusion. “A video? Had there not been any news about the murderer?”

“It all connects. At least, that’s what we believe. These have not been the easiest few days, Jace. Just watch and we’ll explain everything.”

Up against the wall appeared an image of rare beauty - one that made Jonathan’s heart plummet to the ground in horror. The long, scarlet hair and those clear, blue eyes.

Jonathan berated himself for forgetting her when she was once his strongest allies. She knew he was watching her. He could tell by the way she talked, the slightest flicker in her eyes, and the barely concealed smirk on her lips. When she spoke, it was soft to his ears, and it brought back memories of when she used to whisper in his ear while they were both in bed.

“Hello there Robert, and to whomever... else might be watching this.”

In a split of a second, like a switch in his mind, her presence turned possessive, it turned secretive. And now he recalled the true nature of her ways, how it was hidden beneath her charms and covered by her beauty.

“I have heard of your little... situation, and foremost, I would like to give you my sympathies. After such a war, none should be left to suffer from needless slaughter. I felt a duty to inform to you that I may have reason to believe the attacks on shadowhunters have come from my people. Groups have been formed protesting the peace between us, several who have made atrocious claims of being in charge of the murders, and having more planned to come. I did all to discourage these uprises, but it is to no avail. I am willing to make more persistent efforts if you are willing to renegotiate the terms of our peace treaty. I am sure you are very well aware that my alliance is important now more than ever.” Her lips drew upwards to form an easy smile. “What I require is simple. I want Jonathan. Bring him to me, and I promise rigorous results will come to these outlaws. We can discuss the matter further through messages, or I can arrange a meeting. In the meantime, I bid you a good day.”

The image faded to black, and then disappeared from the wall. All eyes turned to face Jonathan, who was still staring dumbfounded at where the picture just was. In all likely scenarios, he could not have predicted this outcome.

“We have already come to a decision. We wanted you both present here to listen.” Robert cleared his throat, ready to begin the discussion; a discussion that had the voice of negotiation, as if he was putting an offer on the table the other side could not refuse. “We cannot send Jonathan alone. Someone must monitor that the queen won’t exploit him for other means, and that she won’t try to bring him back to his former state, or experiment with demon blood. Yet we can no longer ignore the situation, there have been two more murders since we last saw one another. They have been kept in secrecy, since we’ve tried not to alarm the murderer that we picked up a trail. It led nowhere. We have reached a desperate point, and we need the queen’s help.”

Jace noticed that the others had a look of pity in their eyes as they let Robert talk. One delegate was outright examining in him with an odd gaze, and that’s when it dawned to him what the others know that he doesn’t. “It is becoming more and more apparent why you invited me here.”

“Someone has to be sent, and who’s better for the task than you?”

“I can name a few,” Jace bit back, keeping his face neutral. He felt that Robert was being a bit presumptuous, even unreasonable. Wasn’t it only a few days ago he told him he could never trust him to watch over Jonathan? Didn’t he promise that he no longer had to bare that burden of responsibility?

“This is a big favor we’re asking, I know. But we’re not without sympathy, and doing favors for the Order isn’t without rewards. This is your chance to serve again, like you did in the war. I know you don’t want the next shadowhunter to be Clary, or angel forbid, Isabelle or Alec-”

Jia intervened, her face twisted in an ever serious frown. “Robert, I suggest you don’t use emotional manipulation on the boy. This has to be a free choice, not one made out of guilt.” Jace recalled that Jia was one of the voices that were arguing before he and Jonathan made their presence known. Jace was grateful for the support, but he already knew that Robert had him. He didn’t want anyone to hurt Clary, or his family, and if he could find a way to stop this, he should.

“What makes you think the queen would even agree to these terms? What makes you think these are even good terms to begin with? We have enough allies, and resources, to find these faeries on our own. The queen is weak, especially on her own, and she is no position to be making demands after what she put us through.”

Jia shook her head hearing Jace’s words, ready to speak out against him. “The warlocks, werewolves, and the vampires don’t want to get involved in this issue. There have been rumors going around that the faeries plan to attack them next. Without a powerful ally, their threats would be laughable, but there are talks going around...”

“Dark magic. Deals with demons,” Robert interrupted. “I know. Those are baseless. Our primary concern is neutralizing the killer, and to suppress rebellions. The death of shadowhunters can spur on more individuals to join the cause. The best course of action is to give the queen her toy, let her play with him and see that he’s useless.”

Jonathan's anger flashed at the words used against him. He was no one’s toy, much less the queen, and definitely not the Order’s. Did they not understand that he had the potential to be the greatest of shadowhunters, even better than Jace, and their most powerful ally? Their problems were good as solved if they had any reason to trust him. He knew the queen, he knew her on an intimate level, and he could be an extremely useful spy. Maybe if he offered... he could almost hear his proposal coming out of his mouth, but he hesitated. Why should he help them, anyways? They accused him of murder not long before.

“The queen doesn’t want a toy, Robert, she wants a weapon,” the consul stated, and the others murmured agreements. 

“That’s why we send in Jace. Maybe she wants Jonathan purely for romantic reasons, or to have a last conversation? We can’t deny her help on a whim. Jace would monitor him closely, and send in reports if anything suspicious happens. It is also a fantastic chance to hear if there’s any talk around, what they fey think of all this.” 

“Fine,” Jace surrendered, throwing his hands up in the air. He knew he couldn’t put up much resistance in the first place, Robert knew just which buttons to push so continuing this game of ego will be a waste of everyone’s time. "I will be your spy. But I have one condition."

"Name it and it is yours."

"This is the last job I am ever going to do involving Jonathan. After this I am going back to fighting demons, to being a regular shadowhunter. Back to life with Clary and dinners with my family. Once the killer is found, I am done with Jonathan, you hear?"

Robert nodded his agreement, reaching to shake his hand. "It is more than I could ask for. Thank you."

"And what about me?" Jonathan asked, making all eyes immediately turn to him. 

Robert could not conceal the disbelief in his voice. "Excuse me?"

"Me. What is going to happen to me exactly? Do I no longer come back? Am I not allowed to return to shadowhunter life after this, and if I am, will it be as a prisoner?"

"You're asking an awful amount of questions here. Why don't you focus more on doing what you're told." 

Jonathan ignored that comment. "If I prove myself, if I help you guys catch the killer... Will we call it even? Will I be released from my shackles?"

"You think catching one murderer will make it even?" Jace asked, incredulous. "Nothing will ever make us even. If you bring back the killer and execute him on the spot, then in some crazy estimation, it would wipe away one of your crimes, one out of countless others. You would have to catch a thousand cold blooded criminals for me to ever consider you as an equal."

Robert didn't seem to hear what Jace had said, and instead one thought registered to him, like a light sparking in the very far away corners of his mind. Jonathan was now in his most vulnerable state, torn between the shadowhunter world, and complete isolation. What he probably, hopefully, desired more than anything was to prove he was faithful. Robert still had lingering doubts about how pure of heart his intentions actually were, but it was true that without reprimanding for his crimes, he could not advance anywhere in the shadowhunter society- and would most likely, be forever a prisoner. It was probable that even if he wasn’t on the side of the angels, that Jonathan still longed for freedom. If he was desperate enough to truly aid them, he could act as a spy for the Order, and get to places Jace would never get without the queen’s trust. However much he despised the criminal, he could not ignore the allure of the idea. And Jace would already be there to monitor and report any misconduct.

"As much as I hate negotiating deals with demons, let me offer you a deal. You go to the kingdom, you rekindle your alliance with the queen, you gain her trust, and you figure out what is going on. Once this all mystery is unveiled, and there is complete peace, you will gain a position fighting for the Clave. We will monitor you, but you will be allowed contact with your family, and a chance to regain our trust. I will tell you this though, Jonathan. This is a one strike and you are out system. If we have any reason to believe you are conspiring against us, you will not be given a second chance. No rehabilitation, no fighting for the Clave. You will spend your days in the most secure prison, in a location Clary and Jocelyn will never be able to find. Do I make myself clear?" 

Jonathan imagined a distant future where he could rebuild a life in the shadowhunter world as a free man. He knew he would never be able to eradicate his past, but once he proves himself useful, he could at least be tolerated. He would gain protection from the Clave, and be able to serve as a useful ally. He could have meaning in this new world. He could relearn all the harmful skills he had acquired in his past, and use them to actually do something good. For the first time, his choices were not limited to being a pathetic, sniveling prisoner struggling to survive, or a cold, secluded anarchist fighting his nature to stay sane. He could possibly have a life here. 

"You make yourself perfectly clear." 

It took less than a day to prepare Jonathan and Jace for their travel. They were briefed on their mission, and what they needed to accomplish during the stay. Communicating devices, protection runes, tracking runes, and extra security measures for Jonathan were all set up. Jace had a way to see where Jonathan is at all times, and report back to the Clave if he saw any misconduct. Jonathan agreed to the entire ordeal as an act of good faith, that they have no need to fear him turning against Jace. 

Jonathan didn't get to see Clary before he left. Their departure was quick, and inconspicuous. No one except the people present in the conference room knew where they were going. And so, before the sun even had the time to go up, Jace and Jonathan stood alone in front of a crystal lake. The entryway they passed was one Jonathan never took before. It was a passage, a small tear in between their worlds that lead them to the middle of a forest.

Jonathan breathed in the crisp air- pure, uncontaminated oxygen, and looked ahead as the wind carried gentle leaves by. The grass looked greener than usual, more vibrant, with flowers blooming in between, and there were trees that reached higher than any other tree one could find in the city. The sound of chirping birds drew above them as the moonlight turned to the brightness of day.  
The surroundings held that surreal feeling, as if time might be moving a bit slower, or a bit faster... he couldn’t quite tell. Jonathan knew this to be the special characteristics of a faerie place. It brought with it a sort of calm, one he hardly had the chance to enjoy.

The worries that plagued him were still there and it distracted him from the serene environment. No longer would he be entering the queen’s court as Sebastian, with an evil charm and grandiose plans. No, Jonathan was not as powerful as he used to be, and not as ruthless, and not as cunning... how could he fool a faerie leader? She will immediately sense the hesitation on him; he could not let one moment pass showing any weakness. That meant he would have to be snarky, mean spirited, and possessing a great amount of cockiness. No one was more irritated at the notion than Jace, who would have to deal with his renewed arrogance. On the bright side, Jonathan believed it might prove fun to get to boss Jace around, although he could be sure to get an earful of it later.

Still, the prospect wasn’t enough to reassure him. What worried him most was failing; so many variables could go wrong. He knew this when he decided to join the Order as a spy and it was too late to back out now. He could gain the Order’s trust, be set free of his sentence, and join a quiet life with Clary and his mother. That was, if he didn’t screw up. But no pressure.

“Didn’t you say they would be here any minute now?” Jace’s tone was accusing, incisive.

“That’s what they said, it appears they’re late."

Jace looked around the forest in discomfort. He really disliked being in the fey realm, something about it never felt quite real. He decided to distract himself by prodding at Jonathan. "Probably backed down, realized you were a weak trade." 

"Better trade than you." 

Jace smirked at the quip, amused that Jonathan found a sense of humor. Fine, he’s willing to play. “Better trade? Who here is faster, stronger, and better looking?”

“I believe that would be-” He stopped as he noticed a figure drawing closer behind Jace. It wasn’t hard recognizing him- Daemon. He was one of the queen’s most loyal subjects. It seemed logical given the fact that Alec murdered Meliron with his arrow in his search after Jonathan. Looks like after that Daemon got a promotion.

The faerie had sharp ears, long, jet black hair that was tied back in a braid, a slender figure and incredibly bright eyes. He looked nothing short of beautiful, but Jonathan already knew that behind those long lashes and inviting smile stood a wretched being, just as bad as the queen herself. Daemon would not be easily fooled, and anything he does or says will be reported back to the queen in impeccable accurateness.

So, in sight of him, Jonathan straightened his back, cooled his gaze, and thought ‘power’. Naturally, his lips slackened in the form of a coy smile, one he used many times before. If he could not pull off fooling Daemon, he had no business trying to fool a queen, so this was the time to prove he was worth something.

“Her majesty is greatly anticipating your arrival, Mister Herondale and Mister Morgenstern,” Daemon said, lips curved in a polite smile. He gave a customary short bow as a sign of respect.  
Jonathan was a bit taken aback, but remained with an indifferent composure. Faeries could not lie, were not capable of it. Surely the queen would be happy of his arrival, but Jace’s? Did she have anything planned for him as well? Could this be a trap? He was only collateral, after all. Perhaps the queen planned on taking them as hostages, with Jace as the grand price, as vengeance for the grief the shadowhunters have caused her.

‘Whoa, slow down.’ He let his mind rest from these unhelpful speculations; he cannot go on with the plan if every small thing set him on edge. Cool. Collected.  
“It’s a great an honor to be serving the Queen again. I fear we left things... Rather open last time we met.”

Daemon nodded his head. “Oh, I definitely agree. I hope the two of you will be able to come to an understanding by the time our short meeting is over.”

“I’m sure we will. I have every intention of sorting out all sorts of things with my queen. If not, there is always next time.”

Daemon looked pleased, and motioned a hand at the path up ahead. “After me, gentlemen.” He began walking, and Jonathan planned on following when Jace gripped his arm.  
“‘There is always next time?” he hissed, “Don’t start getting ideas into his head. I don’t plan on travelling through worlds every weekend.”

Jonathan’s voice was just below a whisper when he answered. “I am just doing my part and playing the game,” he said, ripping his arm back from Jace’s grip, and walking after the unaware Daemon, into a place he had been sure once he was never going to see again.

Jonathan had to admit that when Daemon said the queen was greatly anticipating their visit, he meant it. There were so many different kind of foods, he didn’t know where to start- an assortment of exotic fruits was set on the table faraway to the left, trays were left open displaying fine meat, thick with sauce, and square cheeses, creamy and hard alike, and the wine- the wine was rich, crimson red in bottles made of glass. Jonathan, who had been eating mostly rice for the longest time, felt a churn of disappointment realizing he will not get to taste any of it. However appetizing, Jonathan could not act stupidly, every person knew that one drop of drink, or one bite of food, and he will be stuck here, forever.

Not the life he worked out for himself.

“Oh it feels like a century since the last time I saw you.”

Jonathan lifted his eyes to come face to face with the High Queen herself, realizing she was addressing him. She didn’t show too much emotion, not outwardly anyways, but he could feel the way her eyes danced at the sight of him. She stretched out her hand, and Jonathan leaned down to plant a chaste kiss at the palm. Hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him, he opened his mouth to speak.

“And still, my memory betrays me, my queen; I failed to remember how beautiful you look in person. The food looks exceptionally delicious I must say, but we did not expect to be dining here. You will excuse us for already catching a meal before we came?”

Jonathan took a seat besides Jace, who was holding back a rather unpleasant sound. Maybe he could convince the queen to lock Jace up in the dungeons for the remainder of the meal...

The queen regarded Jace with a pleasant face. “And Jace, of course. It upsets me the circumstances of our last meeting, but all is in the past, I hope?” 

No one knew more than Jonathan how much Jace hated the queen, almost as much as he hated him. Yet all those ill wishes did not show, and Jace put on his most charming smiles. “It is already forgotten, your Majesty. The Order is interested in our agreement, for mutual benefit, and Robert believes there is much to be done for one another.”

“Are we so quick to talk about business? You have always been so formal Jace, not the conversationalist like Jonathan. Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable. If you desire anything, just say so, and it will be done. It is such a shame you won’t be dining here, the chef made such an exquisite Faantun, the meat is soft as butter.”

Jonathan remembered Faantun as a faerie meal, a special plate made of an animal found in faraway forests, and with a keen taste not found anywhere in their own realm. The thought itself was enough to make his mouth water, yet he restrained. “You’re too kind, but really, we just ate. Still you’re welcome to give us the recipe, I have picked up on a bit of cooking myself.”

Jace did not control the ‘pfft’ noise that came out of his lips this time, forgetting himself. “That’s the understatement of the century. He made eggs, and failed at that.”

The queen chuckled good naturedly at the comment. “You have so many other qualities Jonathan, why would you have to lower yourself to cooking? Creatures such as us leave the cooking to the servants, and our job is to rule. Ah, but I hear that it is not what you’ve been up to lately. Pray tell, what did happen at the end of the war? So many stories have been circulating around; I hardly know which one to believe.”

Jonathan didn’t give himself time to worry, there wasn’t any reason to hide the truth... but, best to remember the small changes. No need for the queen to think he has no strong powers any longer. 

“It’s not that interesting a story, really.” He suppressed the urge to look at the floor, or avert his gaze. “You probably heard about the whole sword business and the “blood purifying” story. Shadowhunters do have a habit of being dramatic. Clary did strike me with the blade but it didn’t pierce me all the way through, in fact she missed and hit my side. I fear it is a bit inconvenient... Black was a rather charming eye color. I lost a bit of my blood, and for a while I was weaker than I once was. The order chained me up, beat me, tortured me. They wanted to sentence me to death, but Clary believed I was able to be redeemed.”

“And the Order listened?” the queen looked more than surprised, a bit reproachful, and Jonathan knew that during this meeting she won't be entirely convinced. He needed more time. He needed to prove himself.

“Ah, you see... Not quite at first, but who went to my rescue? None other than Jace himself.”

The Queen’s eyes were calculating. “You have built yourself quite a nice story Jonathan, but you expect me to believe Jace spoke in your favor?”

“I was no less surprised. Clary couldn’t deal with killing me, and Jace caved in and defended me at during my trial.”

Jace rolled his eyes, and tapped his fingers rather loudly on the wooden table. “I did. Then he was locked in the Institute, while we figured out what to do with him. When the murders came, we had nothing to do but accept your offer.”

“A rather generous offer, I might add.” Jonathan intervened. “And if you don’t mind me asking, what went on over here after the war?”

“Sad day for many, I must say. The Seelie Court hasn’t accepted our alliance yet, they still bear strong feelings towards the shadowhunters. There are many rumors going around, about you especially. Some say you were reborn to fight for Raziel, that he speaks to you the will of the heavens. Some say that you are hiding and biding your time to make a move, and that we should all stay vigilant and faithful. I think that putting an end to such rumors is the best course of action for you.” In a change of atmosphere, the Queen suddenly dropped the subject, and brightened her voice considerably. “Oh, and here we are again, talking business. We should really be making arrangement for a guest bedroom, for you and darling Jace. You are planning on staying for a while, are you not?”

Jace looked as if he had been zapped awake. “A while?”

The queen didn’t show any change of composure. She smiled candidly, and took a bite out of a small, exotic fruit that resembled a pomegranate. “Surely, you do realize that Jonathan will be staying here? I naturally thought you wanted to join him. That was the plan as discussed.”

“For how long?” Jonathan asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Never in any meeting did they brief him about staying here for a long period of time. Did he even want to do that? 

“For however long you please. You are my visitor. It may be weeks, or months. Surely you want to get out of your prison and take a break, don’t you? There are many tourist attractions you must see, and the kingdom is fairly big. Jace is welcome to join as well, of course.”

“I...” Jonathan started, and was immediately stopped.

“We would be honored to stay here, your grace.” 

In response, the queen stood up in delight, scarlet hair dancing to the side in a flash of curls. She waved at her butler to get the bedrooms ready, and gracefully addressed her visitors. “Oh how splendid! Jonathan dear, I do hope to catch a word with you later. Right now I must go run errands; I have a few arrangements I need to have done. Feel free to go and get your belongings.”

Before he had the chance to think of a proper response, the queen made her way to the door, and exited to the hall, far away from prying ears. On her heel went Daemon.

Jace took it as his que to groan, quite loudly too. “I can’t believe I agreed to be stuck here with you for god knows how long. This is like a nightmare, and you never know when it is going to end! Really this is undeserving; I am a good guy, a veteran.”

“Nice to see this is how you feel. Want to add sad music in the background, or do you think you’re being sufficiently dramatic?”

Jace glared at him with rising temper. “Watch it, Jonathan. You can be mysteriously hurt in the next few days. It isn’t as if I have anything to lose. I wonder how much sarcasm will be left in you after you fall on something sharp and pointy.”

Jonathan grounded his teeth one against the other. He was better than this. What good was it to try and bicker with Jace now? He has all the time in the world and less enemies than Jace does in this place. And wasn’t it the original plan for Jonathan to gradually act as sure and confident as he was before the heavenly fire in order to gain the Queen’s trust? To act as he did during the time when Jace was afraid of his shadow, when a shiver ran down his spine from the slightest mention of his name. He had to admit that the thought had its perks.

“We are going to be getting our belongings from the Order.”

Jonathan looked at him in surprise. “You knew she was going to ask us to stay?”

Jace cast him a derogatory smile. “Robert and I expected any outcome. We planned for an abduction, for prosecution, for a friendly encounter, and for a stay of a long duration or a small duration. I hoped some of these won’t come to pass, yet here we are.”

“I see an abduction or prosecution was only considered a minor setback in your plans. Having to stay with me, however? Unthinkable.”

“We like to be thorough. The Order, more specifically, likes to be thorough. It is important to remember how smart your enemy is, Jonathan. Remember who beat you.”

“Who beat me?” Jonathan scoffed, incredulous. “Without the heavenly fire you wouldn’t have managed to succeed in any thinkable way. If not for the angel, you would still be tied to me, have you forgotten?” No matter how much he tried to hide the anger in his voice, he couldn’t. He didn’t care at the moment if he was actually beaten or not. It was, however, outrageous that Jace and his order took credit for things that didn’t concern them. It was a piece of his old self that was showing up, fueling him with rage. But it was his new self that knew that he had to swallow this rage. He would have to face Jace for a long time now, and rage would only lead to them killing each other.

To their good fortune, the servant that led them to the kingdom entered the room with a smile. “Your room is ready. If you wish, you may go now and get your baggage settled.”  
“Room, as in singular?” the blond asked for clarification. “Is there no option for separate bedrooms?”

“No, unfortunately, a lot of rooms have been damaged in the war. The right wing has a few vacant, but the Queen specifically requested you be stationed at the left wing.” He cast an apologetic grin at Jonathan. “We have no option for another room at the moment.”

“Great. Splendid, even.” Jace muttered sarcastically, his agitation from the fight not worn out yet. “I don’t know about you, but this day was enough for me.” Lifting himself up from where he was seated, he icily accepted Daemon’s direction to the room, and declared loudly enough. “I am going to sleep.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered open in the still room. For him, waking up to a non-threatening atmosphere was a rare treat, and the luxurious space he occupied enhanced his relief to a glorious high. The sunlight seeped in from the curtained windows, telling him it was probably late morning. He stretched in the spacious bed like a cat, the knots in his back unfurling, feeling all the more relaxed. Silk blankets, a pillow you could bury your head in, and a sturdy bed agreed with him, he decided. His feet were bare, but all the better when he stepped down and felt the carpet beneath his toes.

The entire situation had this surreal edge to it, almost as if he was floating in an unfamiliar dream. Was it not too long ago that he was tortured in a windowless dungeon? Did the scars no longer run down his back? He ran a finger over a sore spot on his back, wincing slightly, and knew that reality did not change.

The slamming of a door and the loud groan of a familiar voice raised him further back into reality. Right, he had a roommate. Jace came bursting in from their adjacent bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and another drying his hair.

“The water in here is lukewarm at best. I would have thought that in pixie world they would at least have hot water, if not boiling.”

“I see you’re already awake, "Jonathan said hesitantly, deciding to try his luck at a civil conversation.

“There was noise downstairs that woke me up. The clinking of pots. There is nothing to do here except... pace around in this room. I woke up hours ago and just stood there next to the window. This doesn’t feel home, it feels foreign. I wish I could just find what we need and abandon you here already.” Jace gave the place a disgusted look, his upper lip curling. Shaking his head, as if to forget about his pessimistic thoughts, Jace threw Jonathan the towel he used to dry his hair with. “Here, there were two towels. I accidentally used them both.”

“Wonderful.”

Jace threw clothes around from his bag in search of what to wear, barely paying attention to Jonathan, or looking at him. “Just be glad I don’t smother your face with a towel while you sleep.”  
“It’s always either the silent treatment Jace or the vaguely homicidal Jace with you.”

Jace, with a pair of pants dangling from his shoulders, and a wrinkled shirt scrunched in his hand, turned to face his roommate. “Just be grateful it isn’t actual homicide Jace, and deadly silent Jonathan. We will get there if you push your luck.” 

Not doubting him in the least, Jonathan saw no point to continue the conversation and instead decided to take up the chance to shower. Besides, it was getting pretty uncomfortable with Jace parading in only a towel, and he was quite sure it wasn’t only him who noticed.

When Jonathan finished taking a shower, the room had been emptied of a certain blond. Satisfied, he took the first piece of clothing he could find, lazily putting it over his head, and went to inspect the field. To his fondness, his hair smelled of a pleasant coconut essence, and the various faerie creams he tried out made his skin glimmer and shine.

After roaming the halls for a bit, Jonathan understood how much time he hadn’t been in the kingdom. He did pride himself in having a photographic memory, he could recall everything as it was before -even in this massive size- but it did not help him in this case. The kingdom had a look similar to a fine, European castle of the 15th century, but with an aura of a nature palace of woodland. The inside of it was filled with natural lighting, carved wood, vines, openings leading to caves, water sizzling from holes in the wall. 

The kingdom had been rebuilt, in every sense of the word. All around he could see broken doors, some replaced, in different shapes and colors. He decided to count the doors, running a hand on the rugged wall, the cool touch of iron or wood sparking whenever he touched a door. He continuously inspected the area, trying to remember all the fine details. For example, there was a crack next to the fifth door from his room, that was repainted in silver, even though it was made of wood. From the tenth door the color peeled completely, and in the story below, directly below his room the hinges were rusted off the handle, overused and suspicious looking, and in the third floor-

“Jonathan?” The Queen of Seelie called out to him. She was clad in a fitting gown of emerald, lined in various layers, the pattern itself sewn intricately in the shape of leaves. “You smell wonderful, my dear, I’m glad you’ve been enjoying our showers. I have been hoping to bump into you.”

Jonathan found himself standing in front of the queen, gaze cool as ever. The timing was perfect, given he needed to use up any chance he had to talk with her, especially away from Jace, to drop hints of an alliance. Surely, that’s not what he wanted, or is planning to do, but he knew that was what she expected... sooner or later. If she figured him useless, he would be out of the castle in a heartbeat. Of that, he was certain. 

“Darling,” he said, and smiled the way Valentine always taught him to smile- with elegance that betrayed nothing. He remembered what his father told him, how to be aware of your environment, to be conscious of not only yourself, but how others perceive you. In such a way, your hand is stronger. “How great it is to see a friendly face. I was just taking a breather. I need a bit of time away from Jace.”

“Ah, yes. You do not have the most affectionate connection with him.”

Not a question. A statement. 

“There always is this strong tension between us… between me and any shadowhunter these days.”

“They don’t trust you, do they?”

Jonathan nodded, and sighed wistfully. “I don’t think they ever will. I am a conundrum to them. They don’t understand what happened to me, but nor do they want to. They just see what they want to see. I am alive not because they want me to be, but because they have no idea what to do with me...”

“Poor thing, you don’t belong with those people. That is why I hurried to make a deal for you; I knew they weren’t treating you well.” The queen stared at him with a somewhat saddened gaze. Her fingers made a slight touch on his arm, and Jonathan hoped for all that was dear to him that she didn’t feel the goosebumps that were spreading where her fingers lay. 

“They are afraid of me. They don’t let me even hold an eating knife without strict supervision. Afraid I will crack, or turn crazy. You can never know when someone might return to be... what they were before.”

“I understand their concerns completely. But do not worry yourself now with such matters, Jonathan. I have plans for the very recent future.”

“Plans?” he inquired, feigning it as a nonchalant wondering. The queen, not changing anything in her composure, was testing the waters, dropping hints. “Oh yes, to rebuild the kingdom, and maybe something concerning you. It depends on how much you want to be included.” She had this mysterious glint in her eyes, and Jonathan was more than competent to catch any double meaning. His heart lurched, discomforted at the thought. “In rebuilding, of course. There is plenty of work to be done, and you do want to keep yourself busy.”

“I do, I will go crazy just staying indoors all day with Jace. He doesn’t seem so keen on it either. Whenever you want, whatever you need, I am at your disposal.” At the last sentence, he lowered his voice a notch, creating a more serious atmosphere. He needed to lay the ground for the queen’s trust. It all starts here.

Jonathan couldn’t believe how easy this all was once. Not only words, touch. With strangers, with people he hated, with anyone. He once knew how to get into a person’s head, to do whatever it takes to get what he wanted. It never disgusted him; he barely batted an eyelash at such things. Now, he was fighting not to reveal the nervousness he felt, and inside, it made him feel all wrong. Was it even working? He couldn’t be sure. 

To his relief, she said, “It is nice to hear, very nice to hear.” She lowered her fingers to lightly squeeze his hands. “I will get in touch with you later. At any rate, it is best you should go to the main hall. I think I saw Jace waiting there, who knows, maybe he is already missing you?” She chuckled at her own joke.

“I don’t think Jace and missing me goes together in the same sentence, but I will definitely make my way there. I would not want to disturb you any longer. Have a nice day, my queen.” With the last exchange of smiles, he turned his back, and went in the direction he believed to be to the main hall.

Jace, as expected, was at the mail hall. Only he wasn’t alone. Not alone at all.

Three fey creatures, awing in their beauty, tried their luck in seducing him. They were dancing in front of him, hips swaying to the beat, while he was seating on the couch, smiling with interest at their bold moves. He knew that Jace was too polite to refuse their advances. Still, he remained his own charming self, looking as if he enjoyed the show despite himself. This infuriated Jonathan, a protective sibling vibe he never quite felt before possessing him.

Unable to control himself, he decided to intervene. “Okay ladies, that’s enough, the man is taken.” He clapped to shoo them away, hoping they get the message.

One of the girls stared at each of them in turn, an awed expression on her face. Then, she smirked, and giggling she said, “I didn't know shadowhunters were so open-minded. Aren't you guys really conservative? Don't worry, we didn't mean to steal your lover's attentions. You are more than welcome to join. ”

“What?" he blinked. 

“Oh god, no. I mean, never. That’s-no. I am dating his sister, his sister. Trust me, if I were to date a guy I could find myself someone better than... him.” Jace’s face contorted in disgust, shutting his eyes as the image formed in his head. He tried to expel it from his mind, but the image was stubborn, and Jace felt even more disgusted that he allowed himself to think about it.

Jonathan stared him angrily, and turned to address the beautiful ladies. "We are not interested. We have some important business to get to, so if you will, please leave us alone."

The middle lady eyes sparkled dangerously. She looked at him then at Jace, and then back at Jonathan. "Your loss," she said, and then turned to Jace, winking. "I will see you later." Her friends followed her away, giggling.

"Why was I the one to call them away?" Jonathan said. His voice was full of unhidden criticism. 

"They wouldn't leave me alone. Besides, I was just admiring their dancing. No harm done. I haven't been here a lot, unlike you." Jace looked closer at Jonathan, and frowned, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my shirt??"

“What?” Jonathan looked down at his chest, and saw that he was wearing the wrong shirt. In the morning he wasn’t paying attention, and scurried through Jace’s suitcase instead of his own. Great. Before he could explain, or offer to change, Jace stopped him, shaking his head. ”Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Burn it afterwards.”

Jonathan didn’t like the order he was given, or the tone of his voice, but couldn’t think of anything witty enough to say, so instead he took a sit next to Jace. He released a sigh as he sat down, letting himself sink on the soft couch.

“I see you made yourself comfy. Is my presence relaxing you?”

“Watch out with that talk, someone might think we’ve started liking each other’s company.”

“As if,” he snorted, stretching himself further on the couch, his stomach churning in hunger. “I need to get out. This place is driving me insane. Plus, I don’t think we ate since we were in New York, I’m fucking starving.”

Jonathan nodded in agreement, liking the idea of getting away from the vast, possessive hold he felt in the kingdom. “Fresh air could do us some good.”

“Then tell your queen you’re going out for a bit. We could use this chance to get some information out of anyone who would talk. But first, food. I know a place.”

“And why exactly would I need her permission to leave?” He was slightly peeved by the fact Jace thought he was only good as the queen’s secretary. He was invited here as a guest, not a committed partner that needs to be at the Queen's back and call all the time, be wherever she wants, whenever she wants.

“Since she needs to know that you are trustworthy. Perhaps she thinks you are together. I don't think testing her good faith now is the best way to begin our stay."

Jonathan, considering for a moment, nodded. "I suppose you are right." 

“Anyhow, I’m pretty sure there’s a McDonald’s joint somewhere close to the rift. How does that sound?”

“A Mc-what?”

“McDonalds. You know, fast food. Hamburgers, fries...”

Jonathan was disgusted by the sound of the proposal; he never ate anything short of quality in his life. But he didn’t have any money to offer a better place, so he just sighed, and reluctantly agreed.  
“It’s the most decent thing there is in the center, get used to it. We are not going to be eating at any 5 star restaurants; the Order only gave us money for essentials." Trying to reassure Jonathan, he added, "I was a skeptic too until Clary took me to one. It's not as bad as it sounds.”

“I get it. The Order doesn’t want us spending money. But, maybe I could wring a few bills from her Majesty. There’s no way she doesn’t have any spare mundane cash lying around, and once I’m closer to her, I could pop the idea.” Jace raised his eyebrow at the suggestion, as Jonathan continued talking. “Which reminds me, I’ve been dropping hints, and the queen seems to be reciprocating my touches. She told me...” he was reminded of her words, I have plans for you. “…that she wants me to help around the place, repainting and such. I bet she wants you to lend a hand as well.”

“No fucking way. Are we guests or are we her workers?”

“A little bit of both, and you know it. And she knows it. So watch out around her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Either go and ask her to leave, or come with me. I don’t plan on waiting for you long.” 

Jonathan decided it was smart to ask the queen’s permission, there was not point of getting on her bad side so early in their visit. She agreed with great enthusiasm to the offer, and apologized she couldn’t join, important meetings with important people, and things of that nature. It was a relief to Jonathan, who did not intend on inviting her in the first place, and now didn't have to deal with Jace’s taunts. Moreover, the image of the queen at what Jace described as McDonalds place would be horrifying, if not so infinitely amusing.

The pass between the faerie world to the mundane world became a familiar one, and Jace and Jonathan passed it with increasing ease. A few miles off to the forest laid a shopping center, a sizable mall of a few stories, with almost anything you want inside. Mundanes were running to and fro, bags in hands, or sitting down and drinking coffee, chatting listlessly about trivial things. Large advertisements for clothes and technological objects hung on billboards, and there was this general buzz of weekend excitement. It wasn't a... Bad situation, but Jonathan wasn't too sure he enjoyed it either. Too crowded. Too loud.

He sat down at the food court tables while Jace went and placed their orders. Shortly afterwards he returned, carrying trays with their items of food. Jace dug into his hamburger, washing it down with a stream of soda. Hesitantly, Jonathan took a fry and chewed it experimentally. It tasted surprisingly good, and now reassured, he began to eat normally.

“How I missed this burger,” Jace moaned appreciatively at the taste, letting his taste buds savor it before getting to business. He used a napkin to wipe the sauce from his face, and took a last sip of soda. 

“Listen, this may look like an ordinary mundane place, and it is, but underneath, at floor -2, there is an entrance to a downworlder club. There we can question people, and whiff around. This is pretty closer to faerie land, so the chances that some of those creatures are lurking around is far greater.”

Jonathan frowned, taking small bites out of his burger. “Yeah, because my last visit in a downworlder club turned out so well.”

“They aren't likely to recognize you. Creatures here aren't political, nobody participated in any war, so what do they have to hold against you?”

“It doesn't matter if you're political or not, every creature from the highest ranking official in Idris to the poorest, least significant werewolf in the most remote pack either admires me or despises me. There is no in between. I am the most wanted man on these grounds right now, and the only ones who aren’t aware of it are the mundanes.”

“Then just stay quiet and don't mention your name. Let me do the talking. I am not going to let you die, I have a responsibility to the Order, and we’re not quite finished yet.”

Jonathan looked less than convinced. “You're the one protecting me? I feel so safe now.”

Jace tightened his grip on the cup, and the juice overflew and splattered on table. He ignored it. “You think I am bluffing? Don't believe that when the time comes I will actually do it? Look around you Jonathan, I am the only one you have left protecting you. You think your Queen would even look your way if she knew what you are? She would grow bored, she would throw you aside, she would wait for the next powerful, charismatic psychopath to sweep her off her feet and promise to enslave the world with her. If it wasn't for me you would be dead. In court. In the werewolf bar. On the way to Magnus’ place. At any given point I could have ended you. So better keep it in mind next time you feel like throwing a complaint.”

“Fine,” he took a deep breath to calm himself, “you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jonathan held Jace’s confused stare for a few moments, neither breaking contact. Jonathan didn’t mean to apologize, and now that he had, Jace was stumped about what to respond. He would have preferred it if he would have started arguing with him instead. Now, he had no reason to be angry at him, no reason to fight. So, he did the only thing he could do. He cleared his throat, and said, “Alright then. Are you finished eating?”

“Yeah and I have to admit, not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“See? You need to trust me a bit.”

For the second time that evening, they both felt the weight of the words that were said without much thought. Trust. Apologies. Those words were the nature of friendship... Not, whatever they had. “I will keep that in mind.”

Jace gave a nonchalant shrug. “Most important thing is for you to follow me and stay quiet. Come on, let's go.”

They were silent as they went down the elevator to the bottom floor. The first thing they saw was a large, metal door, closing and opening as people were being admitted. Whenever the door would open, a flash of bright lights would burst, followed by loud, piercing music, only to be muffled again as the door closed back up. In front of the door stood a very tall, muscled man of dark skin, which Jonathan recognized right away as a werewolf. His skin tingled at the sight of him. The werewolf was holding a clipboard, probably only to look official, since it was obvious how the selection went. The humans who accidentally stumbled on the place, and were eager to get in, were immediately turned down.

“No entrance.”

The male companion, indignant at the selector’s refusal, but also worried not to anger him, said in a slightly shaky voice, “Why are other people allowed in and we aren’t? We will make a complaint in the city hall and have your club shut down!”

The woman grabbed her boyfriend’s shoulder, holding him back, and gave her most menacing glare. “Let’s go Brian, this isn’t worth it. There are much better bars around the city. This place looks like a   
dump. Who opens a club in the bottom of a shopping mall anyways?” 

“And yet you’re here,” the werewolf retorted, smiling sarcastically at the couple. His finger pointed at the exit, empathizing the silent order, and the look in his eye promised that he would start applying force if they didn’t get out of his sight right now. The man, at least half the weight of the selector, knew that he was beaten, and left with his girlfriend in toll, muttering a lengthy string of curses on his way out. 

“Wow,” Jace whispered quietly to Jonathan, “I bet the werewolf pissed his pants at the thought of that 90 pounds of pure steel plunging at him.”

Jonathan was astounded, and mostly confused, at Jace's attempt at banter with him. He wasn't quite sure if to reply or not, but realizing he didn't have anything to reply either way, he settled with a short chuckle. 

They moved forward in the selection, a line of 20 minutes that consisted of rejection of the humans, and the admittance of downworlders. The selector ushered in a faerie couple, a group of teenage werewolves, barely covering the age of 18, and a mixed couple of a warlock and a vampire. They were up next.

The selector didn’t look too pleased to see them. “What do Nephilim have to search down here? Do you not have better things to do?”

Jace was the one who spoke, which was good, since Jonathan felt like he temporarily lost his voice, “Hey, we’re here to have fun. I don’t think it is a crime for a shadowhunter to party amongst the downworlders.”

“Unfortunately for us, it isn’t a crime.” The selector grimaced, and opened the door begrudgingly. 

“Thank you very much,” Jace beamed, and moved forward to pass, before the selector made an attempt to grab his hand. Jace eyes were calculating, staring at the selector in contempt, daring him to make the next move.

“Warning you to not make any trouble. We have zero tolerance for Nephilim who think they can dishonor our good graces whenever they want.”

Jace opened his mouth to say something along the lines of “what, did a Nephilim kill your mother or something?”, but Jonathan hurried to speak in his place. “Understood,” he said, and pulled Jace into the club.

The music was louder than what he anticipated. Yes, he had visited many bars before, but it felt as if this bar had an objective of deafening its visitors. “I can barely think with all this noise,” he yelled to Jace, trying to overcome the volume of the music.

As clubs go, this place was a very interesting place indeed. No longer needing to hide their true selves, the downworlders moved as freely and as bizarrely as they so desired. Vampires, faeries, werewolves, warlocks, all gathered in one place, some dancing, some trading, some creating substances. It was a relatively dim, crowded floor, with switching lights, and magical decorations creating the illusion of changing scenery. Jonathan had heard of drugs and the effect it had on the consumer, and he was pretty sure that this is what it felt like taking them.

Not wanting to stick out, both he and Jace sat down at a bar stool, and ordered a drink. They barely took a sip, as their eyes averted from one place to the next, searching for clues. It was unlikely they would get anything just sitting down, and Jace knew it. After taking another chug of alcohol, he unbuttoned his shirt a few buttons, opened his collar, and ruffled his hair.

“How do I look?” he said loud enough so Jonathan could hear him.

“Fabulous. Like a stripper for a birthday party.”

“Thanks,” he bit back. He didn’t need Jonathan’s approval, he was confident in his skills, and knew with the right amount of charm, he could make any girl talk. His conscious nagged at him a bit when he thought of Clary, but he shoved it aside. He was doing this for her, all this was for her. The sooner the problem was dealt with, the quicker he would be home, and the quicker Jonathan would be out of his sight. And with that thought, he left the bar stool in favor of picking out his next prey. Jonathan stared as he went, and sighed, remembering his part: stay quiet and don’t attract attention. He sat back in his seat, and watched as Jace went and talked to a cute vampire lady, all pale and covered in diamonds. Jace and her were in a relatively isolated part of the bar, in the back. Jonathan squinted and could make out Jace leaning in with his arm up above her, resting coolly on the wall. Jonathan frowned deeply in his direction, hoping he would catch on fire. 

Meanwhile a person sat on his right, ordering a drink. Jonathan didn't pay him much attention, didn't even notice him, until that person decided to talk to him.

“It’s Jonathan, right? Or would you prefer Sebastian?” At the mention of his name, Jonathan froze up completely, searching conspicuously above his shoulder to see if Jace was heading back his way. Jace was nowhere in sight.

Lost on how he should react, he decided to test the waters, see if this person might be violent, or plans on starting a brawl. “Maybe you have mistaken me with another person.”

“Ooooh, I get it.” Now in clearer view he could see the person addressing him was a faerie, no doubt about it. Pointy ears, flowing, white and violet streaked hair, teeth that were unnaturally white, but what gave him away was the voice. It was accented, the lad was from the northern parts, Jonathan was sure of it. It was the only place he ever travelled to with the queen. The suspicious looking faerie stepped closer to him, and talked softly, so only they could hear, “You don’t want to be heard. You’re undercover now?”

He knew there was no getting out of this one easily. “Something along those lines, yes,” he answered eventually.

“No need to tell me twice. I won’t say a word. Some of the creatures here don’t really like you, you know.”

“Are you one of those creatures?”

The faerie stared back at him with innocent, confused eyes. The only thing Jonathan wasn’t sure about was if it was really as innocent as it played out to be. “Of course not,” the lad admonished, “Sebestian Morgenstern, your name was once echoed through the streets. It was feared, and respected. You’re a hero, a hero who had a slight hindrance, but what sort of change happens without any challenges?”

Jonathan was flattered someone still regarded him highly. He wasn’t used to it, not with all the people around him who hated him for his actions, or saw his uncompleted plans as a failure. He didn’t want to disappoint this one as well, so he decided to play along. “This is more than a slight hindrance, my friend. But my retirement isn’t due yet, so don’t forget about me so soon. Who knows, it might help you in the future,” Jonathan winked at the faerie. In response, he turned a shade redder. “Which reminds me... I don’t even know your name. It is only fair we trade since you know mine.” 

Jace isn’t the only one able to sweet talk his way to information around here.

“Warren.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Warren.” He stretched out his hand for Warren to shake. “My friend had just ditched me to pick up a few girls. Why don’t you sit down and join me for a drink?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly...”

“I insist.”

Warren only played debating whether to take the offer for a few more moments before giving in. “Fine, you got me.” He gave an excited smile, and sat down eagerly next to Jonathan, motioning for a drink. The bartender seemed to know what he wanted, since seconds later two weird, bubbly, orange looking drinks showed up on the counter. Jonathan didn't touch his, years of experience has made him cautious, but let the other drink to his leisure.

“So,” Jonathan started, “remember how I told you I am undercover? There have been... Strange things happening lately. And we have strong suspicion someone is planning something from the faerie side. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary these past weeks, or months?”

Warren chewed on the straw in his drink casually, furrowing his brow in thought. “Not that I recall. Not anything that should worry you.”

“After the war everything went back to the way it was?”

“No, not exactly. I can tell you that plenty are still loyal to you Jonathan, and are waiting for you to return. They are angry at the failure of the war, angry at shadowhunters, angry at other downworlders, especially angry at those who slew you down. If they did anything on the matter? Who can tell? A lot of the lower class faeries are upset at the Queen, are questioning her leadership, but it isn't like they can open in protest, they would be taken from the streets in hours, and thrown into the highest security location prison. You know our ways. ” Warren’s features darkened considerably, as if stricken by a chill, or a bad memory. He looked almost reminiscent. He quickly snapped himself out of it, and continued chewing on his already chewed out straw. “I always knew you’d return though, and bring us to salvation.”

Jonathan studied him, at loss at how to react to such a statement. Acknowledging this... Affectionate comment would prove unwise. This creature was too nice, too straightforward and not talking in riddles. There was no way he was pure faerie, which made Jonathan immediately question the truth of his words, and if this was all some sort of elaborate trap. The world rarely sent him good people with good intentions, and he sighed, remembering once he was the bad person with bad intentions the world sent other people, and they would end up being dead.

“What are you?” He found himself asking out loud.

“Excuse me?”

Jonathan shook his head, slightly embarrassed at saying such a comment out loud. “Sorry, I was just trying to recall from where I recognized your accent.”

“The northern parts of the court.”

Jonathan was pleased with himself for noticing and being right on that account. It gave him the courage to ask the next question. “Now is it your mother who is human, or your father?”

If Warren was fazed by the personal question, he didn’t show it and shrugged noncommittally. “My dad’s half, and so is my mom. I got my looks from my grandpa, who was full faerie, and blood of a royal family. You have no need to fear, I cannot lie, have never lied in my life.”

“One can lie about not lying.”

“Well, aren't you clever?” Warren smirked and tsked him, finger wiggling from one side to the other. It looked as if whatever he drank was starting to have the desired effect on him, that of intoxication. “Watch out, smart people don't get really far these days.”

Jonathan’s smile lessened. “What do you mean?”

Warren chuckled, a bit tipsy now. “Why are you taking me so seriously? Let's talk about other things. One rarely gets a chance to talk with an evil mastermind.”

Jonathan saw that Jace was still nowhere in sight, and reasoned it would be better to have a chat with Warren than to sit around like a dog waiting for his owner. “Evil mastermind? Really, you give me too much credit. You don't need to be exceptional in order to get to the place I was, Warren. The secret is to be in full control of your emotions all the time. Yes you need the smarts, yes you need ambition, but you also need to have zero sympathy, no conscious, and if you care for someone, if you're willing to bend your interests for them, then your road is paved for destruction.” Jonathan finally took a sip of his drink, almost subconsciously. “Trust me.” 

Warren nodded solemnly, taking mental notes while getting his cup refilled. “Funny, that's exactly what my dad told me when I was younger. He said that that was the road for success.”

Jonathan sighed wistfully. “Mine too.”

“Wow, I never guessed I would find something in common with someone like you. You seem so much... greater.”

Jonathan smiled towards him. “I hope at least you got to enjoy a bit of your childhood.”

“Not really. Not ever since… I, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. I drank a bit too much.” Jonathan opened his mouth to respond, maybe to ask a question, when he spotted Jace in the corner of his eye. He disregarded what he wanted to say, and instead said, “So, is it possible to get your number then, in case I need any more information from you?”

Warren seemed thrilled at the idea, and searched his coat pocket for a pen. “I was just about to suggest the very same thing. The only problem is that I don’t have a paper-”

“You can write on the back of my hand, I’ll copy it down later.”

Warren nodded, and obliged, scrawling his number in curved digits. His hand was surprisingly warm as it made contact with his. Jonathan felt so cold, despite the fact that he had alcohol running through his veins, so any bit of warmth was welcome. “Feel free to call whenever you want,” he said. Jonathan smiled, and saluted him farewell, as he made his way back to Jace, who was only a few feet away from him. And the dog goes back to the owner, he thought bitterly.

“Who the hell was that? Making new friends?”

Jonathan flashed an intoxicated smirk, “Maybe. Are you jealous?”

“That’s rich. You could become friends with a reborn angel and I still wouldn’t care.” He took a closer look at Jonathan’s and spotted his unstable demeanor. “Are you drunk?”

He ignored the question. Now that they were really close to one another, a mere feet apart, even with the flashing lights of the club, Jonathan could see the blush covering Jace’s face. He saw the traces of red lipstick on his lower lip, fading, as if he had just now tried to rub it off, and the way his hair had been carefully fixed in an excessive way. 

“So I see you have fully moved on from Clary,” he bit out, and gotten a few steps back away from Jace. He tried to grab his wrist, to pull him back, to try to not pull attention to them, but Jonathan was insistent.

“It’s not how it looks like!” Jace yelled over the noise of the people. Jonathan didn’t stop, so Jace half walked, half ran to keep up with him. “Are you willing to stop and listen to me?” and when he didn’t stop, Jace tried a different tactic. “In Angel’s name, she jumped me and I gently moved her aside. What the hell was I supposed to do, hit her? I tried to put her off.”

“In the exact same way you dealt with those faerie dancers? Hardly surprising. Admit it, two days without Clary and you’re already searching for replacements.”

“No, I’m not. I would never cheat on her.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t trust me?”” Jace stopped in his tracks. Jonathan instinctively turned around to face him. “Go to hell Sebastian. I don’t need your trust, or your opinion. You never experienced true love, only fake love filled with self-interest. No one likes you, and no one will ever fall in love with you, so don’t you dare go and lecture me about being faithful, or how to maintain a relationship.”

Jonathan, reinforced by his conversation with Warren, felt a surge of his old self sparking through him. “You’re right. I don’t need anybody’s love. And that’s exactly what makes me more powerful than you.” And with those words, he exited the club hastily, through the opposite direction of where they entered, and into the parking lot outside. Jace didn’t try to follow him.

 

It was even colder outside than it was inside. Jonathan, stuffing his hands in his pockets, found himself processing the events of the day while walking the path that will lead him back to the forest. He didn’t know whether to believe Jace or not, and what to do with the information at hand. If it was his word over Jace’s, who would Clary believe? Not a hard guess. Still, he felt obligated to her somehow, as if their rekindled sibling friendship required honesty if it was ever going to be fixed. Yet her relationship with Jace was already hanging by a thread, and Jonathan didn’t want to be the final tear that splits them apart. 

Choices. Choices. 

And Warren with his subtlety... there was more to the story than what meets the eye. He didn’t know what to make of what he told him. The thought that people still worshipped him, the thought that they were waiting for him to make a return, was unsettling. He was a disappointment all around. He didn’t need to add faeries to the list as well. 

Jonathan felt a sudden chill creep up his neck, and he almost froze in his spot. Maybe it was the low rustle he heard behind him, maybe it was the distant sound of steps, or maybe it was his own paranoia, but he was almost sure someone was following him. 

Being on the returning end of this sort of situation many times before, Jonathan knew that he can’t stop to look behind. If the attacker discerned that you are on to him, he either changes location, or strikes faster. To gain an advantage, he needed to be more prepared than the person stalking him, and thus he walked as casually as he did before, not showing any signs of pause or hesitation. 

Reaching the opening of the woods, he came to a realization, to his great misfortune, that this was the perfect place for a murder scene. He had no idea who he was facing, what weapons the attacker held, how powerful he might be, and Jonathan was walking straight ahead to a secluded area where no one could come to his rescue. Far enough for no one to hear his screams. 

He swallowed a lump in his throat. His hearing was acutely sensitive, shaped and trained by Valentine to detect the smallest of movements even from radiuses much larger than the current one. No matter how slyly the attacker was maneuvering, he could feel his presence, almost could sense his body heat. 

And that’s why when a body lunged from the side, a knife positioned in hand aimed towards his heart, Jonathan’s hand caught it in the middle of the action, mere centimeters away from ripping into his clothes. With expertise, Jonathan twisted the attacker’s hand, and tried to force him down on his knees. Even though the figure was hidden in shadow, he could sense that he was dealing with a werewolf. 

In the split second where Jonathan was trying to figure out the attacker’s identity, the werewolf slithered his other hand, balled into a fist, and collided it very roughly with his side, hitting his ribcage. It hurt more than Jonathan expected. The air was sucked out of his lungs for a scary moment, giving the attacker the perfect opportunity to finish him off. 

But that didn’t happen. The next thing he knew Jace was running to his side. He leaned against a tree, trying to even out his breaths, coughing a bit. 

“In the name of the angel Jonathan, you can’t be left alone for one moment without something happening to you.” 

“Nothing happened to me. I’m fine.” 

Jace studied him. “It doesn’t look so.” 

“Like you care,” he coughed out, shoving his way past him. This time, Jace did follow him. 

It took them a relative short time to arrive back at the kingdom, and considering the circumstances, it was a good idea they decided to walk fast, seeing as though the queen wasn’t expecting them to return at all. Considering how much time they spent outside for “lunch”, it was understandable. 

And of course, Jace left him to deal with the situation by himself. “I apologize for the late hour, your Highness. We ran into a few inconveniences on the way back, and it kept us more than we expected.”  
The queen stared at him with her blue eyes, her features betraying nothing of her inner thoughts. If she wanted to further interrogate them, she didn't show it. “Nothing to it. I was a bit worried, that’s all, but I was sure it was something minor that kept you up. After all, you always find your way back,” she chuckled lightly, allowing herself to run a delicate finger across the outline of Jonathan's jaw before dismissing him to his chambers. 

Jonathan, rattled still from earlier events, but pleased that the Queen wasn’t angry with him, made his way towards his room, Jace in tow. 

Only when they were at the safety of the room did Jace allow himself to laugh, “I see things are picking up between you and the devil.”

“Next time I will leave you to deal with her. Let’s see if you find that amusing.” 

It was the second time that day that the environment felt oddly calm between them. Jace allowed himself to let down his guard, and for now, if it was only for a bit, they were just two people in a room. Jonathan, trying to distract himself from the image of the knife in his head, leaned down on the bed and stared at the numbers scrawled out on his palm. 

Since there wasn’t much room for privacy, Jace very quickly picked up on it. “Wow, what is this number?” he said, inspecting Jonathan’s hand from the side. “Some chick actually gave you her number? Maybe I misjudged your skills.” 

“None of your business,” Jonathan snapped, moving his hand away from Jace’s prying eyes. He rewrote the number on a more solid paper, and shoved it in a drawer somewhere, acting as if it wasn’t significant in the least, but vividly remembering its placement. Warren gave him nothing of significance yet, so there was no need in sharing it with Jace. Later he will give him a call and see what other information he could divulge for him. 

“So are you going to call her? Poor gal, someone should at least give her parents a warning. I wonder who is pretty enough to let your eyes wander from your loving queen.” 

An image of Warren popped up in his head, and for the argument’s sake, he could say he was pretty attractive. Damn more attractive than most creatures in that bar, that’s for sure. 

“I guess you could say that it was a unique beauty.”

Jace raised his eyebrows up in surprise. “And will this mystery woman make a guest appearance anytime soon? It will get boring in this wretched place sooner or later.”

He didn’t give a response to that, and left Jace to entertain the story he made up for himself. He wasn’t going to confirm or deny. What does it matter, anyways? 

Jace low whistled. “Whatever suits you. I’m going to bed.”


End file.
